KN IGH 
WHEELS 


«p  3Tan  jfjap 

A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS. 

HAPPY-GO-LUCKY.    Illustrated  by  Charles  E.  B»ock. 

A  SAFETY  MATCH.    With  frontispiece. 

A  MAN'S  MAN.    With  frontismece. 

THE  RIGHT  STUFF.    With  frontispiece. 

HOUGHTON  MIFFLIN  COMPANY 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YOKK 


A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 


KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 


BY 
IAN  HAY 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON   MIFFLIN    COMPANY 

•The  tf  iiicwiDc  per »s  Cambridge 
1914 


COPYRIGHT,   1914,   BY   IAN  HAY   BKITH 
ALL   RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  September  IQI4 


SRLB 


TO 
H.  M.  S. 


CONTENTS 

BOOK  ONE 
THE  MISOGYNISTS 

I.  ENVIBONMENT 8 

II.  LE  PREMIER  PAS  .      .      .      .      ...      .19 

III.  SAMSON  AND  DELILAH       .      .      ....      .31 

IV.  HEREDITY        .      .      .      •      •      *      •      •      •    46 
V.  MISTAKEN  IDENTITY    .......    59 

VI.  RENOVAHE  DOLOREM  .      ...      .      .      .    66 

VII.  THE  INCONSISTENCY  OP  UNCLE  JOSEPH     .      .    78 
VIII.  THE  HAMPSTEAD  HEATH  CONSPIRACY        .      .    90 

IX.  GENUS  IRRITABILE 100 

X.  THE  ECCENTRIC  GENTLEMAN  .      .    s  .      .      .109 

XI.  RED  GABLES ,      ;  ^  .  129 

XII.  THE  OFFICIAL  DEMISE  OF  TOMMY  SMITH        .  133 

BOOK  TWO 
LABOR  OMNIA  VINC1T 

Xm.  THE  GOLDEN  AGE 141 

XIV.  THE  IRON  AGE 174 

XV.  OMEGA,  CERTAINLY  NOT 182 

XVI.  THINGS  194 


viii  CONTENTS 

XVH.  PEOPLE 203 

XVHL  MY  SON  TIMOTHY 216 

XIX.  PLAIN  MEN  AND  FAIB  WOMEN       .      .      .225 
XX.  THE  PROVING  OF  THE  BRAKE    ....  248 

BOOK  THREE 
OMNIA  V1NCIT 

XXI.  THE  Bio  THING 263 

XXII.  THE  INARTICULATE  KNIGHT       ....  272 

XXIII.  MAINLY  COMMERCIAL     .  '    .      .      .      .      .  283 

XXIV.  LA  BELLE  DAME  SANS  MERCI   ....  294 
XXV.  CONFESSIONAL  —  MASCULINE  AND  FEMININE  305 

XXVI.  THE  RIVALS       .      .      .      . ""  '1    ''  . '" '.  .318 

XXVH.  SECOND  BEST     .    * .      .      .      '.      .      .  .  329 

XXVIII.  A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING  .      .      .  .  348 

XXIX.  THE  FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THEOPHILUS      .  .  373 

XXX.  THE  SILENT  KNIGHT      .      .      ".      .      .  .386 

XXXI.  THE  ELEVENTH  HOUB   .  .  398 


A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

BOOK  ONE 
THE  MISOGYNISTS 


A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

CHAPTER  I 

ENVIRONMENT 

THURSDAY  morning  was  always  an  interesting 
time  for  Philip,  for  it  was  on  that  day  that  he 
received  letters  from  ladies. 

On  Mondays  he  used  to  write  to  them,  from  the 
dictation  of  Uncle  Joseph.  On  Tuesdays  he  had 
an  easy  time  of  it,  for  Uncle  Joseph  was  away  all 
day,  interviewing  East  End  vicars,  and  Salvation 
Army  officials,  and  editors  of  newspapers  which 
made  a  speciality  of  discriminating  between  gen- 
uine and  bogus  charities.  Uncle  Joseph  was  a  well- 
known  figure  in  the  philanthropic  world,  —  that 
part  of  it  which  works  without  limelight  and  spends 
every  penny  it  receives  upon  relieving  distress, 
and  knows  nothing  of  Charity  Balls  and  Grand 
Bazaars,  with  their  incidental  expenses  and  mid- 
dlemen's profits,  —  and  it  was  said  that  no  deserv- 
ing case  was  ever  brought  to  his  notice  in  vain. 
He  would  serve  on  no  committees,  and  his  name 
figured  on  no  subscription  list;  but  you  could  be 
quite  certain  that  when  Uncle  Joseph  wrote  a 
cheque  that  cheque  relieved  a  real  want;  for  he 
had  an  infallible  nose  for  an  impostor  and  a  most 
uncanny  acquaintance  with  the  habits  and  customs 
of  the  great  and  prosperous  brotherhood  of  pro- 
fessional beggars. 


4  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Hard-worked  curates  and  overdriven  doctors, 
who  called  —  and  never  in  vain  —  at  the  snug  but 
unpretentious  house  in  Hampstead  on  behalf  of 
some  urgent  case,  sometimes  wondered,  as  they 
walked  away  with  a  light  heart  and  a  heavy  pocket, 
what  Uncle  Joseph  was  worth;  for  it  was  said  by 
those  who  were  supposed  to  know  that  his  bene- 
factions ran  into  four  figures  annually.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  his  income  from  all  sources  was  exactly 
seven  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a  year,  and  none 
of  this  was  spent  on  charity. 

Uncle  Joseph  had  one  peculiarity.  He  transacted 
no  business  with  the  female  sex.  If  help  was  re- 
quired of  him,  application  must  be  made  by  a  man. 

On  Wednesdays  Philip  wrote  —  or  more  usually 
typed  —  more  letters,  but  none  to  ladies.  On  this 
day  he  addressed  himself  to  gentlemen,  tersely 
informing  such  that  if  they  made  search  in  the 
envelope  they  would  find  a  cheque  enclosed,  "  in 
aid  of  the  most  excellent  object  mentioned  in  your 
letter,"  which  it  would  be  a  kindness  to  acknowl- 
edge in  due  course.  Uncle  Joseph  used  to  sign 
these. 

This  brings  us  round  to  Thursday  again;  and, 
as  already  indicated,  this  was  Philip's  field  day. 
On  Thursday  morning  one  James  Nimmo,  the 
factotum  of  the  establishment,  used  to  arrive 
shortly  after  breakfast  in  a  cab,  from  an  excursion 
into  regions  unknown,  with  quite  a  budget  of 
letters.  They  were  all  from  ladies,  and  were  replies 
to  Philip's  letters  of  Monday.  Most  of  them  con- 
tained cheques,  chaperoned  by  lengthy  screeds; 
some  enclosed  lengthy  screeds  but  no  cheques; 


ENVIRONMENT  5 

while  a  few,  written  in  a  masculine  hand,  stated 
briefly  that  "If  my  wife  is  pestered  in  this  fashion 
again,"  Yours  Faithfully  proposed  to  communi- 
cate with  the  police. 

Although  these  letters  were  all  addressed  to 
Philip,  Uncle  Joseph  opened  them  himself,  ticking 
off  the  cheques  and  postal  orders  and  dictating  the 
names  and  addresses  of  their  senders  to  Philip, 
who  posted  them  up  in  a  big  book. 

On  Fridays  Philip  wrote  acknowledging  the 
letters.  For  a  boy  of  fourteen  he  was  a  very  fair 
stenographer,  and  could  take  down  the  sentences 
almost  as  quickly  as  Uncle  Joseph  could  dictate 
them.  His  typing,  too,  was  almost  first-class,  and 
he  possessed  the  useful,  if  risky,  accomplishment 
of  being  able  to  write  two  separate  and  distinct 
hands. 

Saturday  was  a  particularly  delightful  day,  for 
then  Uncle  Joseph  and  Philip  put  all  business  cares 
behind  them  and  held  high  revel.  Sometimes  they 
went  up  the  River;  sometimes  they  went  to  Lords; 
and  sometimes  they  took  the  train  into  the  coun- 
try and  tramped  over  the  Hog's  Back  or  the  South 
Downs. 

It  was  upon  these  occasions  that  Uncle  Joseph 
would  discourse  upon  Woman,  and  wonder,  with 
Philip,  why  she  had  been  sent  into  the  world. 

"There  appears  to  be  no  parallel  to  the  female 
mind,"  Uncle  Joseph  would  say,  "in  any  of  the 
works  of  nature.  It  seems  almost  incredible  that 
God  should  invent  such  a  wonderful  piece  of 
mechanism  as  Man  —  invent  him  for  the  express 
purpose  of  controlling  and  developing  this  marvel- 


6  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

lous  world  of  ours  —  and  then  deliberately  stultify 
his  own  work  and  handicap  his  own  beautifully 
designed  and  perfectly  balanced  engines  by  link- 
ing them  up  with  others  which  are  conspicuous  for 
nothing  but  bias  and  instability.  What  a  world 
this  might  have  been,  Philip,  if  all  its  inhabitants 
had  been  constructed  upon  a  rational  plan,  instead 
of  only  one  half !  Why  is  it,  I  wonder?  " 

Philip,  who  could  not  remember  having  spoken 
to  a  woman  for  ten  years,  except  once  or  twice  across 
a  counter,  would  shake  his  head  despondingly. 

"Put  it  another  way,"  continued  Uncle  Joseph. 
"What  master-mariner,  having  set  up  a  carefully 
designed,  perfectly  balanced  compass  upon  the 
bridge  of  his  ship,  would  then  proceed  to  surround 
that  compass  —  upon  the  steadiness  of  which  the 
very  life  of  the  ship  depends  —  with  a  casual  col- 
lection of  bar-magnets  or  soft  iron  bolts?  What 
compass  could  be  expected  to  point  to  the  Mag- 
netic North  for  one  moment  in  such  a  field  of 
force?  It  would  not  even  be  a  constant  field  of 
force;  for  the  magnets  would  come  and  go,  or  at 
least  wax  and  wane  in  attractive  power,  altering 
the  resultant  intensity  from  year  to  year  —  from 
day  to  day,  even.  No  compass  could  give  a  true 
bearing  under  such  circumstances.  And  yet  the 
Supreme  Architect  of  the  Universe  has  done  that 
to  us!  He  creates  man,  and  having  set  him  to 
direct  the  course  of  this  planet,  surrounds  him  with 
women!  Why,  Philip?  Why?" 

At  this  Philip  would  endeavour  to  look  as  wise 
as  possible,  but  once  more  would  find  himself 
unable  to  contribute  to  the  debate. 


ENVIRONMENT  7 

Uncle  Joseph  would  nod  his  head. 

"Quite  right,  Philip,"  he  would  say.  "We  don't 
know  why,  and  we  never  shall.  All  we  can  do  is 
to  bow  to  God's  will,  accept  the  situation,  and 
adopt  the  best  means  at  our  disposal  of  mitigating 
our  disabilities.  There  is  only  one  thing  to  do. 
What  is  it,  Philip?" 

Philip  was  always  quite  ready  this  time. 

"Avoid  women,"  he  would  reply  gravely,  "at 
all  times  and  in  all  places." 

After  that  they  would  talk  about  bird-migra- 
tion, or  high-tension  magnetos — subjects  affording 
easier  and  more  profitable  ground  for  speculation. 

On  the  particular  Thursday  morning  with  which 
we  are  dealing,  Philip  and  Uncle  Joseph  sat  in  the 
library  prepared  for  business.  Philip  was  installed 
at  the  broad  writing-table,  with  a  reporter's  note- 
book and  a  pencil.  Beside  him,  ready  for  use, 
stood  the  typewriter.  Uncle  Joseph  sprawled  for 
the  moment  in  an  easy-chair,  industriously  pe- 
rusing a  copy  of  the  current  issue  of  the  "  Search- 
light," a  weekly  organ  whose  editor  possessed  an 
almost  indecent  acquaintance  with  the  private 
lives  of  most  of  the  rogues  and  quacks  who  batten 
upon  the  British  Public.  He  even  went  so  far  as 
to  publish  an  annual  list  of  their  names,  aliases, 
and  addresses.  Uncle  Joseph  had  figured  therein 
more  than  once,  but  not  as  Uncle  Joseph. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  James 
Nimmo  entered,  carrying  a  cowhide  bag.  This  he 
opened,  and  poured  its  contents  upon  the  table  — 
letters  of  every  shape,  size,  colour,  and  scent. 


8  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"A  heavy  post  this  week,  James  Nimmo," 
commented  Uncle  Joseph. 

"Mph'm,"  replied  James  Nimmo  (who  was  a 
Scotsman).  " Could  I  get  speaking  with  you, 
Colonel?"  he  added.  He  called  Uncle  Joseph 
"  Colonel"  because  he  was  a  colonel. 

Uncle  Joseph  looked  up  sharply. 

"Anything  wrong?"  he  asked. 

James  Nimmo  looked  at  him,  and  like  the  Eld- 
est Oyster,  shook  his  heavy  head.  Uncle  Joseph 
rightly  took  this  to  be  a  sign  of  assent. 

"Where?  "he  asked. 

"At  Commercial  Road."  (As  a  matter  of  fact 
James  Nimmo  said  "Commaircial  Rod,"  but  it 
will  be  simpler  to  transcribe  as  we  go.) 

"  I  expected  it,"  said  Uncle  Joseph.  He  held  up 
the  "Searchlight."  "These  people  say  they  have 
been  making  enquiries.  Listen." 

Do  any  of  my  readers  happen  to  know  anything  of  the 
Reverend  Aubrey  Buck  ?  He  appears  to  be  devoting  his 
undoubted  talents  to  the  furtherance  of  a  crusade  against 
what  he  calls  "  The  Popish  Invasion  of  the  English  Home"; 
and  to  that  end  he  is  circularising  the  country  with  a  pas- 
sionate appeal  for  funds.  A  copy  of  this  appeal  has  been 
forwarded  to  me  by  a  correspondent.  The  head  offices  of  the 
Anti-Popery  League  (from  which  this  document  emanates') 
are  situated  at  374a  Commercial  Road.  Noting  this  illu- 
minating fact,  and  failing  to  find  any  reference  to  the 
establishment  in  the  Post-Office  Directory,  I  last  week 
despatched  a  representative  to  the  Commercial  Road,  to 
seek  out  and  interrogate  the  Anti-Popish  Buck.  As  I 
expected,  Sl^a  Commercial  Road  proved  to  be  a  small 
greengrocer's  shop  —  an  "accommodation  address"  of 
the  most  ordinary  type  —  whose  proprietor  admitted  that 


ENVIRONMENT  9 

he  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  in  letters  on  behalf  of  some  of 
his  customers,  but  declined  any  further  information.  En- 
thusiastic but  credulous  Protestants  should  therefore  be  on 
their  guard.  The  Reverend  Aubrey  is  evidently  an  ex- 
perienced hand,  for  his  dupes  are  most  judiciously  selected, 
being  entirely  maiden  ladies  of  independent  means  and 
advanced  Evangelical  views.  From  his  epistolary  style  I 
cherish  a  shrewd  suspicion  that  Aubrey  is  nearly  related 
to  my  old  friend  Howard  Glennie  ("Searchlight"  Rogues' 
Catalogue,  No.  847),  who  — 

"Man,  he's  a  marvel,  yon  felly!"  observed 
James  Nimmo  admiringly.  He  was  referring  ap- 
parently to  the  editor  of  the  "Searchlight." 

—  Who,  not  long  ago,  as  regular  students  of  the  "Search- 
light" will  recollect,  spent  a  very  profitable  two  years  rais- 
ing the  small  sum  necessary  to  enable  him  to  make  pro- 
vision for  his  aged  mother  before  leaving  this  country  for 
good,  in  order  to  devote  his  life  to  spiritual  work  in  a  leper 
colony  —  a  colony  situated  in  an  island  so  distant  that  I 
was  ultimately  able  to  prove,  to  the  profound  chagrin  of 
Howard  Glennie,  that  it  did  not  exist  at  all.  The  name  of 
Aubrey  Buck,  I  may  add,  not  does  appear  in  "Crockford." 

Uncle  Joseph  laid  down  the  paper. 

"And  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  he  enquired. 

"We  shall  need  to  be  getting  another  address," 
replied  James  Nimmo. 

"We  shall  have  to  drop  Aubrey  Buck,  too," 
said  Uncle  Joseph.  "However,  we  can't  complain. 
We  have  done  pretty  well  out  of  him.  Let  me 
think.  I  know!  We  will  turn  him  into  a  retired 
University  Don  with  paralysis  in  both  legs,  who 
has  to  do  typewriting  for  a  living.  He  shall  send 
an  appeal  for  work  to  every  lady  novelist  in  the 


10 

country.  Their  name  is  legion.  In  nine  cases  out 
of  ten  they  will  send  money  instead  of  manu- 
script." 

"And  if  they  do  send  manuscript?"  enquired 
James  Nimmo  dubiously. 

"We  will  keep  it  for  a  week,"  replied  Uncle 
Joseph  readily,  "and  then  return  it,  accompanied 
by  a  manly  but  resigned  letter  announcing  that 
the  paralysis  has  spread  to  the  Don's  arms  as  well, 
and  he  supposes  there  is  nothing  for  it  now  but 
the  workhouse.  That  ought  to  bring  in  a  double 
donation.  Tell  your  brother  to  move  from  Com- 
mercial Road  to  Islington.  We  have  never  had 
an  address  there.  Were  the  other  places  all  right?  " 
While  James  Nimmo  proceeded  with  his  report 
Philip  sorted  the  letters  on  the  table.  The  con- 
versation did  not  interest  him — he  was  accustomed 
to  it.  But  the  editor  of  the  "Searchlight"  would 
have  appreciated  it  keenly. 

Presently  James  Nimmo  departed,  and  Uncle 
Joseph  and  Philip  went  through  their  correspond- 
ence. The  letters  were  arranged  into  three  heaps. 
The  first  addressed  itself  to  Master  T.  Smith,  care 
of  the  Reverend  Vitruvius  Smith,  172  Laburnum 
Road,  Balham.  The  other  two  were  directed  to 
The  Honorary  Secretary  of  the  International  Brother- 
hood of  Kind  Young  Hearts,  Pontifex  Mansions, 
Shaftesbury  Avenue,  and  The  Reverend  Aubrey 
Buck,  Head  Office,  The  Anti-Popery  League,  374a 
Commercial  Road,  respectively. 

Most  of  Master  T.  Smith's  envelopes  contained 
postal  orders,  some  of  them  accompanied  by 
lengthy  epistles  which  blended  heavy-handed 


ENVIRONMENT  11 

patronage  and  treacly  sentiment  in  equal  propor- 
tions. Uncle  Joseph  read  one  or  two  aloud. 

My  dear  little  Tommy,  —  /  feel  thai  I  must  send  you 
something  in  response  to  your  little  letter,  which  has 
touched  me  to  the  depths  of  my  heart. 

"Only  five  shillings,"  commented  Uncle  Joseph, 
referring  to  the  postal  order. 

/  hope  your  father  is  better,  and  will  soon  be  about  his 
parish  work  again.  The  expense  of  his  illness  must  have 
been  very  great,  and  I  cannot  wonder  that  you  should  have 
overheard  your  mother  crying  in  the  night,  when  she 
thought  you  were  all  fast  asleep.  Perhaps  it  was  wrong 
of  you  to  write  to  me  for  help  without  consulting  your 
parents;  but,  as  you  point  out,  it  would,  indeed,  be  a 
splendid  surprise  if  you  could  go  to  your  father's  study 
with  a  little  money  in  your  hand  and  say:  —  "  That  is  for 
household  expenses,  dear  Father,  from  an  anonymous  well- 
wisher."  I  think  it  was  clever  of  you  to  spell  "anonymous  " 
correctly. 

"  It  was  infernally  silly  of  you,"  amended  Uncle 
Joseph,  looking  up  for  a  moment.  "  However:  - 

/  feel  therefore  that  I  must  fall  in  with  your  little  plot. 
I  am  not  allowed  by  law  to  send  actual  coin  through  the 
post,  or  you  should  have  had  a  bright  new  five-shilling 
piece.  [This  woman  ought  to  be  put  into  a  Home.]  So  I 
enclose  what  is  called  a  postal  order.  If  you  sign  your 
name  on  it  and  take  it  round  to  the  nearest  Post-Office, 
they  will  give  you  five  shillings  in  exchange. 

Do  not  apologise  for  your  handwriting.  I  think  it  is  quite 
good  for  a  boy  of  ten.  Give  my  love  to  your  baby  brother. 
Your  sincere  friend, 

Jane  Roper. 

P.S.  I  wonder  how  you  heard  of  me. 


12  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"They  all  want  to  know  that,"  grunted  Uncle 
Joseph.  "None  of  the  silly  creatures  seem  ever 
to  have  heard  of  directories." 

Master  Thomas  Smith  gravely  signed  the  postal 
order  which  Uncle  Joseph  had  pushed  over  to  him, 
remarking  that  it  was  a  good  thing  Miss  Roper  had 
not  filled  up  the  name  of  the  post-office. 

There  were  fifteen  more  letters  in  a  very  similar 
strain.  They  were  not  all  read  right  through,  but 
the  name  and  address  of  the  sender  were  always 
entered  in  the  book  and  the  postal  orders  were 
carefully  extracted  and  filed. 

Their  total  value  was  found  to  be  seven  pounds 
ten  —  this  despite  a  disappointment  caused  by  the 
last  letter  in  the  heap,  which  bore  a  small  coronet 
on  the  back  and  promised  a  cheque  at  least.  It 
ran:  — 

My  dear  little  boy,  —  /  read  your  letter  with  great  in- 
terest and  indignation.  It  only  proves  what  I  have  always 
said,  that  some  of  our  noble  clergy  are  shamefully  under- 
paid. I  do  not  send  you  any  money,  for  to  do  so  would  be 
to  insult  a  sacred  profession,  and  I  am  quite  sure  that  your 
little  plan  of  offering  a  contribution  of  your  own  towards 
your  household  expenses,  though  creditable  to  your  feelings, 
would  meet  with  your  dear  father's  deepest  disapproval. 
I  will  do  better  than  that.  I  have  some  little  influence  with 
the  kind  Bishop  of  your  diocese,  and  if  you  will  send  me 
your  father's  full  name  and  the  name  of  his  church  and 
parish,  —  all  I  have  at  present  is  your  home  address,  — 
/  will  make  strong  representations  to  His  Lordship  on 
your  behalf.  Indeed,  I  expect  to  meet  him  at  dinner  next 
week.  I  have  been  unable  to  verify  your  father's  name  in 
"Crockford's  Clerical  Directory,"  which  I  always  keep 
by  me.  But  you  see,  there  are  so  many  Smiths  — 


ENVIRONMENT  13 

"Quite  so,"  murmured  Uncle  Joseph,  in  tones 
of  deep  satisfaction. 

— And  the  task  is  too  difficult.   However,  if  you  will 
send  me  the  details  I  ask  for,  I  feel  sure  that  the  dear  Bishop 
will  make  a  searching  enquiry  into  your  father's  case. 
Your  affectionate  friend, 

Sarah  Brickshire. 

P.S.  I  wonder  how  such  a  little  boy  as  you  found  out 
my  address. 

"  Interfering  old  tabby ! "  observed  Uncle  Joseph 
testily.  "  If  she  persists  in  this  preposterous  non- 
sense we  shall  have  to  change  your  venue,  Philip. 
Now  for  the  Kind  Young  Hearts!" 

To  judge  by  the  contents  of  the  second  heap  of 
envelopes,  the  International  Brotherhood  of  Kind 
Young  Hearts  was  an  institution  of  variegated 
aims  and  comfortable  income.  A  five-pound  note 
dropped  out  of  the  first  letter  opened,  the  sender, 
in  her  covering  epistle,  expressing  her  warm  ad- 
miration for  the  character  of  a  heroic  (but  un- 
fortunately fictitious)  individual  named  Dimitri 
Papodoodlekos,  —  or  something  to  that  effect, — 
an  Armenian  gentleman  of  enlightened  views  and 
stiff  moral  fibre,  who,  having  been  converted  late 
in  life  to  the  principles  of  Wesleyan  Methodism, 
had  persisted,  in  the  very  heart  of  the  Ottoman 
Empire  and  in  the  face  of  all  Islam,  in  maintaining 
and  practising  the  tenets  of  his  newly  embraced 
creed  until  summarily  deported  from  his  native 
Armenia  by  direction  of  the  Sultan  himself.  The 
writer  begged  to  enclose  a  small  contribution  to- 
wards the  sum  of  fifty  pounds  which  she  under- 


14  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

stood  the  Brotherhood  of  Kind  Young  Hearts  was 
endeavouring  to  raise  in  order  to  set  up  the  ex- 
patriated Papodoodlekos  in  a  cigar-divan  in  Stoke 
Newington. 

The  next  letter  contained  a  postal  order  for  one 
pound,  contributed  by  a  warm-hearted  but  gullible 
female  in  Leicestershire,  as  a  contribution  towards 
the  sum  required  to  purchase  a  dress-suit  for 
Samuel  Mings,  the  Walthamstow  garotter,  who, 
having  recently  completed  a  term  of  fifteen  years' 
penal  servitude,  was  now  anxious  to  atone  for 
past  misdeeds  by  plunging  into  a  life  of  intense 
respectability.  Samuel,  it  seemed,  had  decided 
to  follow  the  calling  of  a  waiter  at  suburban  dinner- 
parties; and,  being  a  man  of  agreeable  address  and 
imposing  appearance,  had  already  booked  several 
conditional  engagements  in  the  Golder's  Green 
district.  A  second-hand  dress-suit  was  now  all  that 
was  requisite  to  ensure  for  him  a  permanent  resi- 
dence in  the  paths  of  virtue. 

It  may  be  mentioned  here  that  sufficient  cash 
to  equip  Samuel  with  an  entire  Bond  Street  trous- 
seau was  yielded  by  this  post  alone. 

But  the  begging-letter  writer,  charm  he  never 
so  wisely,  draws  a  blank  sometimes.  Presently 
Uncle  Joseph  picked  up  a  large  grey  envelope  from 
the  heap. 

"Man's  handwriting,"  he  observed. 

From  the  envelope  he  extracted  a  letter  and 
a  cheque.  A  casual  glance  at  the  face  of  the 
cheque  caused  him  to  raise  his 'eyebrows  comic- 
ally and  whistle.  Then  he  skimmed  through  the 
letter. 


ENVIRONMENT  15 

"Here's  a  fellow  with  a  sense  of  humour,"  he 
said.  "What  a  tonic  after  all  these  women! 

Sir,  —  My  wife,  who  occasionally  permits  me  to  take 
charge  of  her  correspondence  (especially  when  she  is  asked 
for  money),  has  handed  me  your  very  interesting  communi- 
cation. I  learn  from  it  that  the  International  Brotherhood 
of  Kind  Young  Hearts  is  in  need  of  funds  for  fifteen  dif- 
ferent objects  —  prettily  described  by  you  as  "this  week's 
List  of  Mercy"   The  list  includes:  — 
(.0  Appeal  on  behalf  of  an  Armenian  undesirable,  who 
appears  to  have  evaded  the  Immigration  Laws  of  this 
country  and  so  planted  himself  in  our  unhappy  midst. 
(2}  Appeal  on  behalf  of  a  retired  gar  otter,  who,  before 
setting  up  in  business  as  a  suburban  burglar,  evidently 
desires  to  study  the  architecture  and  internal  arrange- 
ments of  the  residences  of  our  wealthy  bourgeoisie. 
(3)  Appeal  for  a  sum  sufficient  to  send  one  thousand  slum 

children  to  the  seaside. 

This  appears  to  be  a  laudable  object,  though  it  is  perhaps 
undesirable  to  despatch  children  of  that  age  and  condition  to 
the  seaside  in  early  December,  as  you  apparently  propose  to 
do.  It  would,  moreover,  have  established  greater  confidence 
in  the  minds  of  your  clients  if  you  had  mentioned  the  name 
of  the  slum,  the  name  of  the  watering-place  to  which  you 
propose  to  send  the  children,  and  the  nature  of  your  arrange- 
ments for  conveying  and  maintaining  them  there.  If  I  may 
say  so,  there  is  a  lack  of  names,  places,  and  figures  in  your 
scheme.  But  perhaps,  as  in  the  case  of  John  Wesley,  "the 
world  is  your  parish." 

There  are  twelve  other  appeals  of  a  similar  nature,  all 
equally  hard  to  resist  and  all  equally  entertaining.  Sub- 
scribers, I  note,  are  requested  to  place  a  mark  opposite  to 
the  particular  item  of  your  programme  to  which  they  wish 
their  contribution  to  be  devoted.  I  confess  I  find  my  sympa- 
thy excited  less  by  some  of  the  appeals  than  by  the  others. 


16  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

For  instance,  I  fear  I  cannot  support  your  view  of  the 
desirability  of  providing  a  one-armed  protege  of  yours, 
Albert  Edward  Skewby,  with  a  hurdy-gurdy.  In  my  opin- 
ion there  are  only  two  musicians  in  history  —  Bach  and 
Tchaikowsky  —  and  neither  of  these  sounds  to  advantage 
on  a  hurdy-gurdy.  Besides,  Albert  probably  has  another 
arm  inside  his  waistcoat.  You  look  and  see.  Neither  can  I 
find  it  in  my  heart  to  support  your  Home  of  Rest  for  un- 
wanted Doggies.  Sausages  are  dear  enough  as  it  is,  and  if 
you  are  going  to  corner  the  market  in  this  well-meaning  but 
misguided  fashion,  I  fear  they  will  soon  be  out  of  my  reach 
altogether. 

However,  some  of  your  other  appeals  moved  me  deeply, 
and  I  confess  I  have  experienced  great  difficulty  in  making 
my  final  choice.  I  was  strongly  attracted  at  first  by  the  case 
of  the  gentleman  who  has  just  terminated  a  protracted  visit 
to  an  inebriates'  home,  and  who,  I  gather,  is  anxious  to 
raise  a  sum  sufficient  to  enable  him  to  qualify  for  readmis- 
sion  at  an  early  date.  I  nearly  succumbed,  again,  to  your 
appeal  on  behalf  of  the  lady  who  has  recently  been  rendered 
a  widow  by  reason  of  the  hasty  and  ill-considered  action  of  a 
band  of  African  cannibals.  On  second  thoughts,  however, 
remembering  that  the  pangs  of  the  good  lady  over  the  loss 
of  her  husband  must  be  as  nothing  in  comparison  with  those 
of  the  unfortunate  savages  who  are  probably  still  trying  to 
digest  him,  I  held  my  hand,  and  passed  on  to  my  final 
choice  —  the  purchase  of  an  annuity  for  the  aged  and 
badly-used  butler,  Lemuel  Bloote  —  (what  fun  it  must  be 
making  up  names  like  that!) 

Lemuel,  I  gather,  has  severed  his  connection  with  his 
employer  —  a  nobleman  to  whose  family  and  person  the 
Blootes  have  been  faithfully  attached  for  more  than  forty 
years  —  owing  to  an  unfortunate  misunderstanding  with 
regard  to  a  valuable  and  massive  service  of  Sheffield  plate, 
unaccountably  missing  from  the  baronial  strong-room. 
Lemuel  naturally  left  the  court  without  a  stain  upon  his 


ENVIRONMENT  17 

character,  but  wounded  pride  forbade  him  to  reenter  the 
service  of  his  aristocratic  traducer.  Too  old  to  start  life 
afresh,  too  self-respecting  to  beg,  he  has  thrown  himself,  you 
say,  upon  the  compassion  of  the  International  Brotherhood 
of  the  Kind  Young  Hearts.  I  cannot  resist  this  appeal.  I 
set  my  mark  against  the  name  of  Lemuel  Bloote,  and  beg 
you  to  be  so  kind  as  to  accept  my  cheque  on  his  behalf.  I  do 
not  know  how  great  a  sum  is  required  to  purchase  an  annu- 
ity for  a  Bloote,  so  I  leave  the  cheque  blank.  Kindly  fill  it 
up  at  your  discretion.  I  make  only  one  stipulation.  I  am  a 
collector  of  Sheffield  plate.  If  Lemuel  has  not  already  dis- 
posed of  his  stock,  perhaps  you  will  kindly  put  me  into 
direct  communication  with  him. 

Let  me  close  with  a  word  of  advice.  When  you  write  your 
next  batch  of  appeals,  do  not  allow  your  sense  of  humour 
to  run  away  with  you  altogether.  I  admire  and  respect  a 
cheerful  knave,  but  let  there  be  moderation  in  all  things. 

Yours  faithfully, 

Julius  Mablethorpe. 

The  cheque  was  headed  Bank  of  Expectation,  and 
bore  the  somewhat  unexpected  signature  of  the 
head  of  the  house  of  Rothschild.  It  was  drawn  to 
the  order  of  A.  S.  Windeller,  Esq.,  and  was  dated 
April  the  First,  2013. 

"  I  should  like  to  meet  that  fellow,"  said  Uncle 
Joseph  appreciatively. 

"So  should  I,"  said  Philip. 

His  uncle  looked  up. 

"Hallo!"  he  said.  "Is  your  sense  of  humour 
beginning  to  sprout,  Philip?  You  are  growing  up, 
my  boy.  How  old  are  you?" 

"Nearly  fifteen,"  said  Philip. 

"Well,  you  don't  look  it,  but  you  possess  certain 
attainments  which  a  young  man  of  thirty  might 


18  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

envy.  In  other  respects  you  must  be  considered 
backward.  But  you  are  an  excellent  secretary,  you 
can  keep  accounts,  and  you  are  exceptionally  well 
up  in  English  literature  and  modern  science.  I 
have  directed  you  to  the  best  of  my  ability  in  the 
right  way  of  life.  At  any  rate,  I  have  kept  you 
away  from  wrong  influences.  You  are  healthy  in 
body  and  prompt  in  mind,  and  you  are  thoroughly 
inoculated  against  the  female  virus.  Now  your 
sense  of  humour  is  developing.  You  should  go  far. 
But  we  are  wasting  time.  Let  us  polish  off  Aubrey 
Buck's  correspondence,  and  then  I  will  dictate  to 
you  one  or  two  new  letters  which  I  have  drafted. 
Your  attention  appears  to  be  wandering.  What  are 
you  thinking  about?" 

"Nothing  in  particular,  Uncle  Joseph,"  said 
Philip.  He  took  up  his  pen  briskly. 

But  for  all  that  he  had  been  thinking  about 
something  in  particular.  Uncle  Joseph's  reference 
to  the  female  virus  had  brought  it  to  his  mind.  It 
was  a  little  girl  in  a  blue  cotton  frock. 


CHAPTER  II 

LE   PREMIER   PAS 

HAVING  disposed  of  the  Reverend  Aubrey  Buck's 
correspondence,  —  it  was  not  so  bulky  as  on  previ- 
ous occasions,  for  evidently  the  paragraph  in  the 
"Searchlight"  had  dealt  its  originator  a  mortal 
blow,  —  uncle  and  nephew  sat  down  to  an  excellent 
luncheon,  cooked  and  served  by  James  Nimmo. 
No  woman  ever  crossed  the  threshold  of  the  house 
in  Hampstead. 

James  Nimmo  had  originally  been  a  ship's 
steward,  and  his  conversion  to  misogynistic  princi- 
ples had  been  effected  comparatively  late  in  life. 
Always  a  man  of  thrifty  disposition,  he  had  shirked 
the  responsibility  and  expense  of  matrimony  until 
he  had  attained  the  ripe  age  of  forty.  Then  he  fell 
a  sudden  and  abject  captive  to  the  charms  of  a 
damsel  of  Carnoustie,  half  his  age.  The  match  was 
struck,  but  it  was  stipulated  by  the  girl's  parents 
that  the  wedding  should  not  take  place  until  after 
James  Nimmo's  next  voyage. 

Before  sailing,  the  prospective  bridegroom 
handed  over  to  his  beloved  the  greater  part  of  his 
savings,  to  be  expended  in  the  purchase  and  outfit- 
ting of  a  suitable  establishment,  —  to  wit,  a  bijou 
villa  in  Broughty  Ferry,  —  in  order  that  the 
honeymoon  might  commence  without  unavoidable 
delay  upon  his  return. 


20  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Eight  weeks  later  James  Nimmo  sailed  into  the 
Tay,  to  find  his  turtle-dove  flown.  Alarmed  pos- 
sibly by  the  unrest  produced  in  the  real  property 
market  by  recent  legislation,  the  lady  had  forborne 
to  purchase  the  bijou  villa.  Having  no  house,  to 
spend  money  upon  furniture  was  obviously  a  work 
of  supererogation.  Lastly,  inspired  possibly  by  a 
yearning  for  a  wider  field  in  which  to  exercise  her 
undoubted  talents,  the  affianced  of  James  Nimmo 
had  decided  to  emigrate  to  Canada.  This  decision 
she  promptly  put  into  execution,  departing  without 
due  ostentation  in  the  steerage  of  an  Allan  liner, 
and  taking  with  her  her  parents,  James  Nimmo's 
savings,  and  a  young  carpenter  of  steady  habits 
and  good  wage-earning  capacity  whom  she  had 
married  three  days  previously. 

Six  months  later  James  Nimmo  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Uncle  Joseph  on  board  a  P.  &  O. 
liner,  homeward  bound  from  Bombay.  James  was 
deck-steward  on  that  voyage,  and  Uncle  Joseph's 
attention  was  first  attracted  to  him  by  the  extreme 
coldness,  not  to  say  hauteur,  with  which  he  at- 
tended to  the  wants  of  seasick  lady  passengers. 
James  Nimmo  on  his  part  noted  with  grim  approval 
the  whole-hearted  fashion  in  which  Uncle  Joseph, 
who  was  a  presentable  bachelor  of  thirty-six  in 
those  days,  boycotted  the  long  row  of  chairs  in  the 
lee  of  the  deckhouses,  and  confined  himself  to  the 
smoking-room  or  the  windward  side  of  the  ship. 

One  hot  night  in  the  Red  Sea  a  chance  remark  of 
Uncle  Joseph's  unlocked  the  heart  and  loosed  the 
tongue  of  James  Nimmo,  and  before  dawn  the 
whole  of  the  tale  of  the  fickle  beauty  of  Carnoustie 


LE  PREMIER  PAS  21 

had  been  told,  for  the  first  and  last  time,  to  mortal 
man. 

At  Tilbury  James  Nimmo  resigned  his  post  and 
abandoned  the  service  of  the  sea,  in  order  to  follow 
Uncle  Joseph.  Since  that  day  they  had  never  been 
parted.  All  this  had  happened  more  than  ten 
years  ago. 

Philip  had  been  added  to  the  household  at 
Hampstead  a  few  days  after  Uncle  Joseph  had 
landed  at  Tilbury,  —  in  fact,  it  was  on  Philip's 
account  that  Uncle  Joseph  had  come  home,  —  and 
from  that  moment  he  had  lived  and  breathed  in 
a  society  exclusively  masculine.  He  still  retained 
recollections  of  the  period  when  petticoats  ruled 
him,  but  they  were  very  faint,  for  his  nursery  days 
had  ended  abruptly  at  the  tender  age  of  four. 

Sometimes,  though,  he  had  visions.  He  saw 
dimly  a  stout,  autocratic,  but  on  the  whole  good- 
tempered  being  whom  he  called  Nanny.  He  saw 
more  dimly  a  big  silent  man,  who  occasionally  took 
him  on  his  knee  and  fed  him  furtively  with  the  tops 
of  eggs,  and  made  laborious  conversation.  And 
most  dimly  of  all  he  saw  a  lady,  very  dainty  and 
sweet-smelling,  who  always  appeared  to  be  talking. 
When  she  talked  to  a  group  of  other  ladies  and 
gentlemen,  she  seemed  to  smile  and  sparkle  like 
some  pretty  jewel.  But  when  she  was  alone  with 
the  big  silent  man  she  neither  smiled  nor  sparkled, 
and  her  voice  sounded  shrill  and  hard.  Philip  had 
a  vague  recollection  that  on  these  occasions  the 
room  always  seemed  to  grow  darker. 

The  pretty  lady  took  little  notice  of  Philip,  but 
Philip  took  sufficient  notice  of  her  to  be  able  to 


22  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

realize,  one  day,  that  she  was  gone.  Nothing  else 
about  the  house  seemed  changed  except  that. 
Philip  still  played  in  the  nursery,  and  went  out 
walking  with  his  Nanny:  he  even  received  the  tops 
of  eggs  from  the  big  silent  man,  who  seemed  to 
grow  more  silent  and  less  big  as  the  days  went  by. 
But  the  pretty  lady  never  came  back.  Once  Philip 
ventured  to  enquire  of  the  Man  what  had  become 
of  her,  but  the  question  was  not  answered,  and  the 
Man  seemed  to  grow  even  smaller  than  before;  so 
Philip,  fearing  lest  he  should  fade  away  altogether, 
refrained  from  further  investigations. 

Not  long  after  this  Philip  was  taken  to  see  the 
Man  in  bed,  and  he  noted  with  concern  that  the 
Man  had  shrunk  away  almost  to  nothing.  Philip 
was  lifted  up,  and  the  Man  kissed  him,  which  he 
had  never  done  before,  and  said  something  which 
Philip  did  not  understand,  but  which  made  Nanny 
cry.  Philip  cried,  too,  when  he  was  taken  back  to 
the  nursery,  and  Nanny  endeavoured  to  comfort 
him  by  giving  him  an  egg  with  his  tea.  But  Philip 
would  only  eat  the  top.  The  Man  would  have  been 
pleased  if  he  had  known  this,  and  perhaps  he  did; 
for' during  the  hour  of  Thilip's  tea-time  he  passed 
on  to  a  place  where  people  know  everything,  and 
—  which  is  far  better  —  the  reason  of  everything. 

After  that  came  a  period  when  the  windows  were 
darkened  and  people  came  and  went  in  great 
numbers  throughout  the  house.  Philip  had  a  new 
black  velvet  suit,  and  rather  enjoyed  the  stir  and 
bustle.  But  when  this  6meute  was  over  the  days 
grew  very  dull,  for  Nanny  and  Philip  and  one  or 


LE  PREMIER  PAS  23 

two  maids  seemed  to  have  the  house  to  themselves. 
Everybody  appeared  to  be  waiting  for  something. 
Even  the  glories  of  the  black  velvet  suit  began  to 
pall,  and  Philip  was  genuinely  relieved  when  one 
day  a  carriage  drove  up  to  the  door  and  a  gentle- 
man stepped  out  and  rang  the  bell  with  an  authori- 
tative peal.  Most  gratifying  of  all,  the  gentleman 
was  shown  straight  up  to  the  nursery,  where  he 
shook  hands  with  Philip  and  directed  him  to  ad- 
dress him  as  Uncle  Joseph.  The  gentleman  strongly 
resembled  the  Man,  except  that  his  back  was 
stiffer,  and  he  held  his  head  more  proudly,  and 
spoke  in  a  staccato  and  commanding  voice. 

It  was  Philip's  last  day  in  the  nursery,  for 
Uncle  Joseph  took  him  away  that  very  afternoon. 
Non  sine  pulvere,  however.  For  a  most  unexpected 
and  memorable  conflict  arose  between  Uncle 
Joseph  and  Nanny.  Philip,  who  sat  on  the  window- 
seat  an  interested  witness,  never  forgot  that  spec- 
tacle. He  had  seen  Nanny  cross  and  he  had  seen 
Nanny  cry;  but  he  had  never  before  seen  Nanny 
cross  and  crying  at  the  same  time.  Her  voice  rose 
higher  and  higher,  and  then  broke.  Philip  heard 
her  say  "That  lamb!"  several  times,  and  Uncle 
Joseph  replied,  in  a  very  steady  resolute  voice: 
" Never  again!  Never  again  to  one  of  your  sex!" 

After  that  events  moved  rapidly,  and  Philip 
remembered  little  more  except  a  hurricane  of  tear- 
ful farewells  from  Nanny  and  the  maids,  and  a  long 
journey  in  the  carriage  to  the  house  in  Hampstead. 
Here  he  was  introduced  to  James  Nimmo,  who 
provided  him  with  an  excellent  tea,  and  then 
washed  him  (with  surprising  skill)  and  put  him  to 


24  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

bed.  After  a  few  days  Philip,  with  the  happy 
adaptability  of  extreme  youth,  grew  so  accus- 
tomed to  his  new  surroundings  that  it  would  have 
embarrassed  him  extremely  to  have  had  his  face 
washed  by  a  lady. 

Now,  after  ten  years,  the  visions  of  his  nursery 
days  came  but  rarely.  The  pretty  lady  he  had 
almost  forgotten.  Once  a  whiff  of  scent,  emanating 
from  an  houri  who  passed  him  in  the  Finchley 
Road,  brought  her  memory  back  to  him,  but  only 
for  a  moment.  Poor,  cross,  faithful  Nanny  was  a 
mere  shadow.  The  Man  dwelt  most  strongly  in  his 
recollection,  but  he  was  becoming  inextricably 
merged  with  Uncle  Joseph. 

James  Nimmo  and  Uncle  Joseph  divided  Philip's 
upbringing  between  them.  Uncle  Joseph  taught 
him  to  read  and  write,  while  James  Nimmo  in- 
structed him  in  the  arts  of  cookery  and  needlework. 
By  the  time  he  was  ten  Philip  could  make  an 
omelette,  repair  a  rent  in  his  own  garments,  or 
"sort" —  to  use  James  Nimmo's  expression  —  a 
faulty  electric  bell. 

Uncle  Joseph  broke  to  him  the  news  that  the 
world  was  round,  and  initiated  him  into  the  mys- 
teries of  latitude  and  longitude  and  the  geography 
of  continents  and  oceans.  James  Nimmo's  dis- 
courses had  a  more  human  and  personal  touch. 
He  spoke  of  far-reaching  steamer-tracks  as  if  they 
had  been  London  thoroughfares,  alluding  to 
mighty  liners  with  no  more  emphasis  than  if  they 
had  been  so  many  motor  omnibuses  —  as,  indeed, 
they  are.  He  criticised  New  York,  Colombo,  or 
Melbourne  in  no  mere  scientific  spirit,  but  from 


LE  PREMIER  PAS  25 

the  point  of  view  of  a  thrifty  Scot  ashore  for  a  few 
hours'  pleasure. 

Neither  was  Philip's  literary  education  neg- 
lected. Uncle  Joseph  cultivated  his  intellect,  while 
James  Nimmo  enriched  his  vocabulary.  From 
Uncle  Joseph  he  learned  to  enjoy  the  masterpieces 
of  his  native  tongue,  and  to  express  himself  in 
direct  and  cogent  English;  but  it  was  from  James 
Nimmo  that  he  picked  up  such  colloquial  patois 
as  "ashet"  and  "gigot"  and  "besom."  He  also 
referred'^at  times  to  "the  morn's  morn,"^and  was 
accustomed  to  enquire  of  his  uncle,  "Are  you  not 
for  another  cup  of  tea?"  or,  "Will  I  open  the 
window?  " 

•  It  was  to  James  Nimmo,  too,  that  Philip  owed 
his  first  introduction  to  poetry.  James  was  in  the 
habit  of  referring  constantly  to  a  friend  of  his, 
apparently  deceased,  whose  full  name  Philip  never 
rightly  ascertained,  but  whose  invariable  appella- 
tion was  "Rabbie."  "Rabbie,"  it  appeared,  was 
the  only  real  poet  who  had  ever  existed.  His  soul 
was  the  soul  of  Scotland.  Rabbie  had  never  penned 
a  line  which  did  not  get  home  to  his  countrymen: 
conversely,  no  Scot  could  ever  be  overtaken  by  a 
great  thought,  or  conceive  a  moving  sentiment, 
without  finding  that  thought  or  sentiment  already 
expressed,  in  perfection,  in  some  work  of  Rabbie's. 

James  Nimmo  could  quote  whole  stanzas  of  him, 
and  kept  a  store  of  apposite  tags  and  passages  from 
his  works  upon  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  He  was 
addicted  to  the  recital  of  lengthy  selections  from  an 
intensely  respectable  poem  entitled,  "The  Cotter's 
Saturday  Night";  and  would  throw  off  shorter 


26  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

masterpieces  — "The  Twa  Dogs,"  "Scots  Wha 
Hae,"  and  "Auld  Lang  Syne"  -  in  their  entirety. 
Most  of  these  performances  Philip  secretly  con- 
sidered rather  dull,  but  he  made  an  exception  in 
favour  of  a  curious  little  poem  about  a  mouse, 
which  James  Nimmo  used  to  recite  with  great 
tenderness  and  a  certain  pathetic  effect.  Our 
affections  must  have  an  outlet  somewhere.  Old 
maids  cherish  pug-dogs:  perhaps  it  was  the  same 
instinct  which  softened  the  sere  and  yellow  heart  of 
James  Nimmo  towards  the  "wee  sleekit,  cowerin', 
timorous  beastie,"  whose  schemes  had  gone  agley 
too,  and  whose  efforts  to  found  a  home  for  itself 
had  met  with  no  better  success  than  his  own. 

The  fact  that  Rabbie  was  subject  to  human 
weaknesses  of  any  description,  or  had  ever  expe- 
rienced any  other  passions  than  those  arising  from 
patriotic  fervour  or  political  animus,  was  con- 
cealed from  Philip  for  many  a  year.  Once  only  did 
James  Nimmo  lift  a  corner  of  the  curtain. 

"He  went  tae  his  grave  at  seven-and-thirty,"  he 
mentioned  one  day. 

"Why?"  enquired  the  ingenuous  Philip. 

"Because  they  had  drained  the  life  oot  o'  him,'* 
replied  James  Nimmo,  his  face  hardening.  "I 
mind  a  vairse  he  yince  wrote.  It  micht  ha'  been  his 
ain  epitaph:  — 

"  As  father  Adam  firrst  was  fooled  — 
A  case  that 's  still  too  common  — 
Here  lies  a  man  that  wumman  ruled, 
The  deevil  ruled  the  wumman  I" 

—  A  summary  of  the  life  and  character  of  Scot- 
land's national  bard  which  his  most  ardent  admirer 


LE  PREMIER  PAS  27 

will  admit  errs  a  little  on  the  side  of  leniency  to- 
wards Rabbie  and  ingratitude  towards  a  sex  which, 
all  things  considered,  had  no  special  cause  to  bless 
him. 

After  luncheon  Uncle  Joseph  disposed  himself  to 
slumber  for  half  an  hour,  while  Philip,  who  in  com- 
mon with  his  kind  always  felt  particularly  energetic 
when  distended  with  food,  practised  high-jumping 
in  the  garden. 

At  two  the  pair  went  out  for  a  walk.  If  it  hap- 
pened to  be  a  Thursday  —  as  it  was  to-day  —  they 
repaired  to  a  large  bank  in  Finchley  Road,  where 
the  notes  and  gold  which  had  come  out  of  the 
morning's  envelopes  were  handed  over  to  a  polite 
cashier.  Uncle  Joseph  was  a  well-known  figure 
here.  When  he  strode  in  on  Thursday  afternoons 
the  cashier  always  sent  a  hurried  message  to  the 
manager;  and  that  financial  Janus  would  emerge 
smiling  from  his  temple  behind  the  glass  screens 
and  come  round  to  the  front  of  the  counter  and 
shake  hands  with  Uncle  Joseph  and  engage  him  in 
agreeable  conversation,  while  Philip  watched  the 
cashier  licking  his  thumb  and  counting  bank-notes 
with  incredible  rapidity.  After  entering  the  num- 
bers of  the  notes  in  a  big  book  the  cashier  would 
seize  the  bag  containing  the  gold  and  silver  - 
quite  a  number  of  Uncle  Joseph's  subscribers  used 
to  send  actual  coin  in  registered  envelopes:  they 
were  of  the  type  which  does  not  understand  postal 
orders  and  mistrusts  cheques  —  and  pour  it  in  a 
jingling  cascade  upon  the  counter.  Then,  having 
counted  it  by  playing  lightning  arpeggios  upon  it 
with  his  fingers,  he  would  sweep  it  up  in  a  brass  coal- 


28  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

shovel  and  fling  it  contemptuously  into  a  drawer 
already  half-full,  hopelessly  mixing  it  with  other 
people's  money  from  the  start.  To  Philip,  like 
most  of  us,  banking  was  a  mystery. 

The  manager  and  Uncle  Joseph  then  shook 
•hands,  and  the  proceedings  terminated  with  a  vote 
of  want  of  confidence  in  the  weather.  After  that 
Uncle  Joseph  and  Philip  walked  to  Swiss  Cottage 
Station,  where  Uncle  Joseph  departed  alone  by  the 
Underground  —  to  another  bank,  in  the  Edgeware 
Road  this  time.  Here  he  deposited  a  bundle  of 
cheques  and  crossed  postal  orders.  The  majority  of 
these  were  drawn  to  the  order  of  the  Treasurer  of 
the  International  Brotherhood  of  Kind  Young 
Hearts,  though  a  fair  proportion  bore  the  names 
of  Master  T.  Smith  and  the  Reverend  Aubrey 
Buck. 

Out  of  consideration  for  the  manager  of  the  bank 
at  Hampstead,  who,  had  he  been  asked  to  place 
sums  of  money  intended  for  such  a  diversity  of 
people  to  the  credit  of  a  single  individual,  would 
undoubtedly  have  become  greatly  confused,  - 
and  deeply  interested,  —  Uncle  Joseph  kept  a 
separate  account  at  the  Edgeware  Road  Bank  for 
all  contributions  to  his  benefactions  which  did  not 
arrive  in  the  form  of  notes  or  cash.  These  he  invari- 
ably endorsed,  "Everard  James,  Secretary."  The 
same  name  was  inscribed  upon  his  pass-book.  It 
was  understood  in  the  Edgeware  Road  Bank  that 
Mr.  James  was  general  director  of  a  large  philan- 
thropic institution,  and  the  fact  that  he  paid  in  so 
many  cheques  endorsed  by  other  people  was  doubt- 
less due  to  the  circumstance  that  these  were  minor 


LE  PREMIER  PAS  29 

officials  of  the  same  organization  —  as,  indeed, 
they  were. 

Philip  usually  devoted  his  solitary  walk  home 
from  Swiss  Cottage  Station  to  a  minute  inspection 
of  the  shop-windows  in  Finchley  Road.  On  this 
particular  Thursday  afternoon,  though,  he  began 
to  run.  The  soundness  of  his  physical  condition 
may  be  gauged  from  the  fact  that  he  ran  up  Nether- 
hall  Gardens,  a  declivity  much  in  favour  with 
prospective  purchasers  of  motor-cars,  out  on  trial 
trips,  and  in  corresponding  unfavour  with  would-be 
vendors  of  the  same  —  to  say  nothing  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  Gardens. 

He  ran  on  past  the  newly  built  Tube  Station,  up 
Frognal,  and  presently  reached  the  outskirts  of 
Hampstead  Heath.  It  was  half-past  three,  and  the 
red  wintry  sun  was  sinking  low. 

Suddenly  he  paused,  and  then  stopped  dead.  He 
was  conscious,  deep  down  within  him,  of  a  recur- 
rence of  the  sensation  which  had  stirred  him  on  the 
previous  Sunday,  as  he  walked  over  this  part  of  the 
Heath  with  Uncle  Joseph.  On  that  occasion  he  had 
noticed  a  little  girl  sitting  on  a  gate.  She  had 
smiled  at  Philip  as  he  passed  —  a  wide  and  friendly 
smile.  Philip  had  not  returned  it,  for  Uncle  Joseph 
had  noted  the  smile  and  improved  the  occasion  at 
once. 

"You  see,  Philip?"  he  said.  "The  hunting  in- 
stinct already!  That  child  has  never  seen  you 
before;  she  will  never  see  you  again;  she  would  not 
care  if  you  went  to  perdition  to-morrow,  though 
she  would  feel  intensely  gratified  if  she  could  be 
certain  that  you  had  gone  there  on  her  account. 


30  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

She  is  nothing  to  you,  or  you  to  her.  But  you  are  a 
man  and  she  is  a  woman.  So  she  smiles  at  you.  It 
is  the  first  and  most  primitive  of  the  arts  of  attrac- 
tion. There  is  nothing  behind  the  smile  —  nothing 
but  an  undeveloped  predatory  instinct.  And  that 
is  what  Man  has  to  struggle  against  all  the  days  of 
his  life,  to  the  detriment  of  his  own  and  the  world's 
progress." 

Long  before  Uncle  Joseph  had  concluded  these 
timely  observations  the  little  girl  was  out  of  sight. 
"Predatory  "  was  a  new  word  to  Philip.  He  made  a 
mental  note  of  it,  and  resolved  to  question  Uncle 
Joseph  as  to  its  meaning  on  a  more  suitable  occa- 
sion. Meanwhile  he  felt  that  he  had  had  an  escape 
—  an  escape  and  a  warning. 

Still  —  here  he  was,  four  days  later,  back  on  the 
same  dangerous  spot.    And  there,  sitting  on  the 
same  gate,  with  the  setting  sun  glinting  on  her 
long,  honey-coloured  pigtail,  sat  the  little  girl. 
•  "Hallo,  boy!"  she  said,  and  smiled  again. 

Philip  gave  her  a  severe  look. 


CHAPTER  III 

SAMSON   AND   DELILAH 


THE  little  girl  continued  to  sit  upon  the  top  rail 
of  the  gate,  with  her  heels  on  the  second  and  her 
long  black  legs  tucked  up  beneath  her.  She  had 
taken  off  her  jacket,  and  was  using  it  as  a  cushion 
to  mitigate  the  hardness  of  her  perch.  She  was 
dressed  in  a  blue  cotton  frock,  which  was  gathered 
in  round  her  waist  with  a  shiny  red  leather  belt. 
At  least  Philip  considered  it  red:  the  little  girl 
would  have  explained  that  it  was  cerise. 

She  also  continued  to  smile.  Her  teeth  were  very 
small  and  regular,  her  eyes  were  soft  and  brown, 
and  some  of  her  hair  had  blown  up  across  the  front 
of  her  tam-o-shanter,  which  matched  the  colour  of 
her  belt. 

Philip  stood  stock  still,  and  surveyed  her  a  little 
less  severely. 

"Hallo,  boy!"  said  the  little  girl  again. 

"Hallo!"  said  Philip,  in  guarded  tones. 

"I  saw  you  on  Sunday,"  the  little  girl  informed 
him. 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  Philip  coldly,  and  prepared 
to  pass  on.  Uncle  Joseph's  warning  had  recurred 
to  him  with  the  mention  of  Sunday. 

"Don't  go,"  said  the  small  siren  on  the  gate. 

"I  think  I  will,"  said  Philip. 


32  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Why?" 

Philip  hesitated.  Uncle  Joseph  had  trained  him 
always  to  say  exactly  what  he  thought,  and  never 
to  make  excuses.  But  he  experienced  a  curious 
difficulty  in  informing  this  little  creature  that  he 
was  leaving  her  because  she  belonged  to  a  danger- 
ous and  unscrupulous  class  of  the  community.  It 
was  the  first  stirring  of  chivalry  within  him.  So  he 
did  not  reply,  but  began  to  move  away,  rather 
sheepishly. 

The  little  girl  promptly  unlimbered  her  stern- 
chasers,  and  the  scornful  accusation  rang  out:  — 

"You 're  shy!" 

Into  an  ordinary  boy  such  an  insult  would  have 
burned  like  acid.  But  Philip  merely  said  to  himself 
thoughtfully,  as  he  walked  away :  — 

"I  wonder  if  I  am  shy?" 

Then  presently  he  decided:  - 

"No,  I'm  not:  I  can't  be,  because  I  wanted  to 
stay  and  talk  to  her!" 

He  walked  on  a  few  yards,  and  then  paused 
again.  Boy  nature,  long  dormant,  was  struggling 
vigorously  to  the  surface. 

"I  won't  be  called  shy!"  he  said  to  himself 
hotly. 

He  turned  and  walked  quickly  back. 

The  little  girl  was  still  sitting  on  the  gate,  stud- 
iously admiring  the  sunset.  Once  more  Philip 
stood  before  her.  ^ 

"I  say,"  he  said  nervously,  "I'm  not  shy. 

The  little  girl  looked  down  languidly. 

"Have  you  come  back  again?"  she  enquired. 

"Yes,"  said  Philip,  scarlet. 


SAMSON  AND  DELILAH  33 

"Why?" 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you,"  pursued  Philip  doggedly, 
"that  I  was  n't  shy  just  now." 

The  little  girl  nodded  her  head. 

"I  see,"  she  said  coldly.  "  You  were  not  shy  — 
only  rude.  Is  that  it?  " 

The  greater  part  of  Philip's  short  life  had  been 
spent,  as  the  reader  knows,  in  imbibing  the  prin- 
ciple that  a  man  not  only  may,  but,  if  he  values 
his  soul,  must,  be  rude  to  women  upon  all  occa- 
sions. It  is  therefore  regrettable  to  have  to  re- 
cord that  at  this  point — at  the  very  first  encoun- 
ter with  the  enemy — Philip  threw  his  principles 
overboard. 

"Oh,  no,"  he  said  in  genuine  distress.  "I  did  n't 
mean  to  be  rude  to  you.  It  —  it  was  a  different 
reason." 

The  little  girl  made  no  reply  for  a  moment,  but 
stood  up  on  her  heels  and  unrolled  her  cushion  to 
double  its  former  width. 

"Come  up  here  and  tell  me  about  it,"  she  said 
maternally,  patting  the  seat  she  had  prepared. 

Philip  began  to  climb  the  gate.  Then  he  deliber- 
ately stepped  down  again. 

"Are  n't  you  coming?"  asked  the  little  girl,  with 
the  least  shade  of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

"Yes,"  said  Philip.  "But  I'll  come  up  on  the 
other  side  of  you.  Then  I  shall  be  able  to  keep  the 
wind  off  you  a  bit.  It's  rather  cold." 

And  he  did  so.  Poor  Uncle  Joseph! 

Now  they  were  on  the  gate  together,  side  by  side, 
actually  touching.  Philip,  feeling  slightly  dazed, 
chiefly  noted  the  little  girl's  hands,  which  were 


34  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

clasped  round  her  knees.  His  own  hands  were 
broad,  and  inclined  to  be  horny;  hers  were  slim, 
with  long  fingers. 

The  little  girl  turned  to  him  with  a  quick,  con- 
fiding smile. 

"Now  tell  me  why,"  she  commanded. 

"Why  what?"  asked  Philip  reluctantly. 

"Why  you  went  away  just  now." 

Philip  took  a  deep  breath,  and  embarked  upon 
the  task  of  relegating  this  small  but  dangerous  ani- 
mal to  her  proper  place  in  the  Universe. 

"It  was  —  it  was  what  Uncle  Joseph  said,"  he 
explained  lamely. 

"Who  is  Uncle  Joseph?" 

"He  — I  live  with  him." 

"Have  n't  you  got  a  father  or  a  mother?"  A  pair 
of  very  kind  eyes  were  turned  full  upon  him. 

"No." 

"Poor  boy!" 

To  Philip's  acute  distress  a  small  arm  was 
slipped  within  his  own. 

•'I  have  a  father  and  a  mother,"  said  the  little 
girl.  "You  may  come  and  see  them  if  you  like." 

Philip,  who  intended  to  cut  the  whole  connection 
as  soon  as  he  could  decently  escape  from  the  gate, 
thanked  her  politely. 

"Only  don't  come  without  telling  me,"  con- 
tinued his  admonitress,  "because  Father  isn't  al- 
ways in  a  good  temper." 

Philip  thought  he  might  safely  promise  this. 

"Now  tell  me  what  Uncle  Joseph  said,"  resumed 
the  little  girl.  "What  is  your  name?"  she  added, 
before  the  narrative  could  proceed. 


SAMSON  AND  DELILAH  35 

"Philip." 

"Philip  what?" 

"Philip  Meldrum." 

"Shall  I  call  you  Phil?"  enquired  the  lady,  with 
a  friendly  smile. 

"Yes,  please,"  replied  Philip,  feeling  greatly 
surprised  at  himself. 

There  was  a  pause.  Philip  became  dimly  con- 
scious that  something  was  expected  of  him  — 
something  that  had  nothing  to  do  with  Uncle 
Joseph.  He  turned  to  his  companion  for  enlighten- 
ment. Her  face  was  slightly  flushed,  and  her  eyes 
met  his  shyly. 

"What  is  your  name?"  he  enquired  cautiously. 

"Marguerite  Evelyn  Leslie  Falconer,"  replied 
the  little  girl,  in  tones  of  intense  relief. 

"Oh,"  said  Philip.  " Do  they  call  you  all  that? " 

"No.  I  am  usually  called  Peggy.  Sometimes 
Pegs." 

"Why?" 

Miss  Falconer  sighed  indulgently. 

"Peggy  is  the  short  for  Marguerite,"  she  ex- 
plained. "Did  n't  you  know?" 

"No,"  said  Philip. 

He  was  about  to  proceed  to  a  further  confession, 
when  the  little  girl  said  graciously:  - 

"You  may  call  me  Peggy  if  you  like." 

Here  Philip,  whose  moral  stamina  seemed  to  be 
crumbling  altogether,  took  his  second  downward 
step. 

"I  shall  call  you  Pegs,"  he  said  boldly. 

"All  right,"  replied  the  lady  so  designated. 
"Now  tell  me  what  Uncle  Joseph  said." 


36  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Uncle  Joseph,"  began  Philip  once  more,  "was 
with  me  on  Sunday,  when  you  were  sitting  here." 

"Was  I?"  enquired  Peggy  with  a  touch  of 
hauteur.  Then  she  continued  inconsequently :  "I 
remember  him  quite  well.  Go  on." 

"He  saw  you,"  continued  the  hapless  Philip, 
**when  you  smiled  at  me." 

Miss  Falconer's  slim  body  stiffened. 

"O —  o  —  o  —  oh!"  she  gasped.  "How  can  you 
say  such  a  thing?  I  never  did!" 

Poor  Philip  —  who  had  yet  to  learn  the  lesson 
that  feminine  indiscretions  must  always  be  ac- 
cepted without  comment  and  never  again  referred 
to  without  direct  invitation — merely  reiterated  his 
tactless  statement. 

"But  you  did,"  he  said.  "Or  perhaps,"  he 
added  desperately,  for  Peggy's  eyes  were  almost 
tearful,  "you  were  only  smiling  to  yourself  about 
something." 

To  his  profound  astonishment  this  lame  sug- 
gestion was  accepted.  Miss  Falconer  nodded.  Her 
self-respect  was  saved. 

"Yes,"  she  said;  "that  was  it.  Go  on." 

"—  And  when  Uncle  Joseph  saw  you  smiling  - 
to  yourself  —  he   said    that   women   always  did 
that.   He  said  they  could  n't  help  it.  It  was  a  - 
a  prebby  —  a  prebby-something  instinct.  I  can't 
remember  the  word." 

"Presbyterian?"  suggested  Miss  Falconer  help- 
fully. "Our  cook  is  one." 

"Something  like  that.  Yes,  I  believe  it  was 
that,"  said  Philip.  He  was  quite  sure  it  was  not, 
but  he  was  anxious  not  to  offend  again.  "He  said  it 


SAMSON  AND  DELILAH  37 

was  due  to  a  —  a  Presbyterian  instinct.  He  thinks 
women  ought  to  be  avoided." 

"Why?"  asked  Peggy,  deeply  intrigued. 

"He  doesn't  like  them,"  explained  Philip.  He 
spoke  quite  apologetically.  Half  an  hour  ago  he 
could  have  set  forth  the  doctrines  of  Uncle  Joseph 
as  matters  of  fact,  not  of  opinion. 

But  Miss  Falconer  did  not  appear  to  be  offended. 
She  seemed  rather  pleased  with  Uncle  Joseph. 

'  *  I  don't  like  them  much  myself,"  she  announced. 
"Except  Mother,  of  course.  I  like  little  girls  best 
—  and  then  little  boys."  She  squeezed  Philip's  arm 
in  an  ingratiating  manner.  "But  why  doesn't 
Uncle  Joseph  like  women?  They  can't  do  anything 
to  him  I  They  can't  stop  him  doing  nice  things! 
They  can't  send  him  to  bed!"  concluded  Miss  Fal- 
coner bitterly.  Evidently  the  memory  of  some 
despotic  nurse  was  rankling.  "Did  he  ever  tell  you 
why?" 

"Oh,  yes  — often." 

"What  does  he  say?" 

"He  says,"  replied  Philip,  getting  rapidly  into 
his  stride  over  long-familiar  ground,  "that  women 
are  the  disturbing  and  distracting  force  in  Nature. 
They  stray  deliberately  out  of  their  own  appointed 
sphere  in  order  to  interfere  with  and  weaken  the 
driving-force  of  the  world  —  Man.  They  are  a 
parry  —  parry  —  parry-sitic  growth,  sapping  the 
life  out  of  the  strongest  tree.  They  are  subject  to 
no  standard  laws,  and  therefore  upset  the  natural 
balance  of  Creation.  They  act  from  reason  and  not 
instinct  —  no,  I  think  it  is  the  other  way  round  - 
they  act  from  instinct  and  not  from  reason.  They 


38  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

have  no  breadth  of  view  or  sense  of  proportion. 
They  argue  from  the  particular  to  the  general;  and 
in  all  argument  they  habitually  beg  the  question 
and  shift  their  ground  if  worsted.  They  cannot 
organise  or  direct;  they  only  scheme  and  plot. 
Their  own  overpowering  instinct  is  the  Prebby 
-Presbyterian  instinct  —  the  instinct  pf  plun- 
der— 10  obtain  from  Man  the  wherewithal  to  deck 
their  own  persons  with  extravagant  and  insanitary 
finery.  This  they  do,  not  to  gratify  man,  but  to 
mortify  one  another.  A  man  who  would  perform 
his  life's  work  untravelled  —  no,  untrammelled  - 
must  avoid  women  at  all  costs.  At  least,"  con- 
cluded Philip  traitorously,  "that  is  what  Uncle 
Joseph  says." 

Miss  Falconer  puckered  her  small  brow.  Evi- 
dently she  declined  to  go  all  the  way  with  Uncle 
Joseph  in  his  views. 

"I  don't  understand  it  all,"  she  said  frankly, 
"but  some  of  it  sounds  pretty  silly.  Is  your  Uncle 
Joseph  a  nice  man?  Do  you  like  him?" 

"Yes,"  said  Philip  stoutly.  "He  is  very  kind  to 
me." 

"He  sounds  a  funny  man,"  mused  Peggy, 
shall  talk  to  Mother  about  him.  I  must  go  now.  It 
is  getting  dark." 

She  slipped  off  the  gate,  and  Philip  perceived, 
for  the  first  time,  that  for  all  her  youthfulness  she 
was  half  a  head  taller  than  himself. 

"Where  do  you  live?"  enquired  Philip,  forget- 
ting his  previous  intentions. 

"Over  there,  where  the  lamp-posts  are.  Good- 
night, Phil!" 


SAMSON  AND  DELILAH  39 

"Goodnight,  Pegs!" 

The  children  shook  hands  gravely.  Both  desired 
most  ardently  to  ask  the  same  question;  but  Philip 
was  restrained  by  his  principles  (now  returning 
hurriedly  to  duty),  and  Miss  Peggy  by  maidenly 
reserve.  But  each  secretly  made  the  same  resolu- 
tion at  the  same  moment. 

II 

Philip  found  his  uncle  smoking  a  pipe  in  a  big 
armchair  before  the  study  fire.  He  was  jotting 
down  calculations  on  a  blotting-pad. 

"  The  opposite  sex  has  its  uses,  Philip,"  he  said. 
"To-day,  thanks  to  the  sentimental  credulity  of  a 
number  of  estimable  but  credulous  females,  we 
have  raked  in  forty-seven  pounds  ten.  With  that 
sum  we  shall  be  able  to  do  some  real  good." 

"How  are  you  going  to  spend  it  this  week, 
Uncle  Joseph?"  asked  Philip. 

"  Considering  the  season  of  the  year,  I  think  the 
best  thing  I  can  do  is  to  devote  practically  all  of  it 
to  Christmas  benevolences  —  chiefly  of  the  coal- 
and-blanket  order.  I  have  no  quarrel  with  the  very 
young,  and  I  don't  like  to  think  of  any  child,  male 
or  female,  going  hungry  or  cold  on  Christmas  Day. 
You  can  do  a  lot  with  forty-seven  pounds  ten, 
Philip.  For  about  fourpence  you  can  distend  a 
small  stomach  to  its  utmost  capacity,  and  you  can 
wrap  it  up  and  keep  it  warm  for  very  little  more. 
What  a  blessed  thing  it  is  that  these  misguided 
females  have  some  one  to  divert  their  foolish  offer- 
ings into  wise  channels.  This  very  week,  but  for  us, 
forty-seven  pounds  ten  would  have  dropped  into 


40  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

the  banking-account  of  some  professional  beggar, 
or  gone  to  bolster  up  some  perfectly  impossible 
enterprise,  such  as  the  overthrow  of  the  Church  of 
Rome  or  the  conversion  of  the  Jews.'* 

Uncle  Joseph  laughed    whimsically. 

"  There  is  a  touch  of  humour  about  it  all,"  he 
said.  "  It  would  appeal  to  the  editor  of  the  '  Search- 
light/ I  must  tell  him  all  about  it  some  day  — 
when  I  go  out  of  business!  Yes,  we'll  stick  to  coal- 
and-blanket  charities  at  present,  Philip.  After 
Christmas  I  want  to  tackle  the  question  of  emi- 
gration again.  Now  get  your  writing-pad.  I  want 
to  dictate  rough  copies  of  the  letters  for  next 
Monday." 

Uncle  Joseph  filled  a  fresh  pipe,  and  began  to 
stimulate  his  epistolary  faculties  by  walking  about 
the  room.  Philip  silently  took  his  seat  at  the 
table. 

"Aubrey  Buck  must  go,"  was  Uncle  Joseph's 
first  announcement.  ''Let  us  make  a  start  upon 
his  successor.  His  name  shall  be  Arthur  Brown, 
M.A.,  late  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 
Trinity  is  so  big  that  it  is  very  hard  to  trace  all  its 
late  Fellows,  especially  if  their  name  is  Brown. 
John's  is  good,  too,  but  we  did  very  well  with  a 
Johnian  missionary  to  Central  Patagonia  a  couple 
of  years  ago,  and  we  must  divide  our  favours 
impartially.  Now,  take  this  down :  — 

**  Dear  Madam,  —  Not  long  ago  I  was  like  yourself —  a 
personality  in  the  world  of  letters.  Not  of  letters  such  as 
this,  which  (between  you  and  /)  it  is  with  the  utmost  repug- 
nance that  I  have  brought  myself  to  sit  down  and  address  to 
a  fellow-scribe  — 


SAMSON  AND  DELILAH  41 

"That's  a  purposely  turgid  and  ungrammatical 
sentence,  but  she  won't  know.  It  does  me  good  to 
dictate  it  — 

—  but  of  the  great  world  of  Literature,  where  the  rarest 
spirits  assemble  and  meet  together  — 

"That's  out  of  the  Prayer  Book,  and  fits  in 
rather  well  there  — 

"  —  spirits  that  live  as  gods,  and  take  sweet  counsel  together. 

"  That  last  bit  is  King  David,  but  she  will  proba- 
bly think  it  is  Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox — 

"  The  busy  life  that  you  lead,  as  one  of  the  protagonists 
of  modern  thought  — 

"She  won't  know  what  a  protagonist  is,  but  it 
will  please  her  to  be  called  one — 

"  —  deprives  me  of  the  hope  that  you  can  possibly  have  found 
time  to  glance  through  my  poor  works.  Yet,  believe  me,  even 
I  have  had  my  little  circle.  I,  too,  have  walked  in  the 
groves  of  the  Academy  with  my  cluster  of  disciples,  striving 
to  contribute  my  mite  to  the  sum-total  of  our  knowledge. 

"Now  we  might  come  to  the  point,  I  think  — 

"  But  my  course  is  run;  my  torch  extinguished.  Two  years 
ago  I  was  attacked  by  paralysis  of  the  lower  limbs  — 

"  Always  say  '  lower  limbs '  when  talking  to  a 
lady,  Philip  — 

" —  lower  limbs,  followed  by  general  prostration  of  the  entire 
system.  I  am  now  sufficiently  recovered  to  don  my  armour 
once  more;  but  alas!  my  occupation  is  gone.  My  Fellowship 
expired  six  months  ago,  and  has  not  been  renewed.  My 
pupils  are  dispersed  to  the  corners  of  the  earth.  Entirely 


42  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

without  private  means,  I  have  migrated  to  London,  where 
I  am  endeavouring  to  eke  out  an  existence  in  a  populous 
but  inexpensive  quarter  of  the  town  —  the  existence  of  a 
retired  scholar  and  gentleman,  save  the  mark  I  — 

"That's  a  good  touch,  Philip! 
"  —  by  clerical  work. 

"No,  don't  put  that.  She  will  think  clerical 
means  something  to  do  with  the  Church.  Say 
*  secretarial '  instead  — 

"Have you  any  typing  you  could  give  me  to  do?  I  hate 
asking,  and  I  know  that  you  know  I  hate  asking;  but  there 
is  a  subconscious,  subliminal  bond,  subjective  and  object- 
ive, — 

"I  don't  know  what  that  means,  but  it  sounds 
splendid  — 

«  —  ihai  links  together  all  brothers  of  the  pen;  and  I  venture 
to  hope  that  in  appealing  to  you,  of  all  our  great  brother- 
hood, I  shall  not  appeal  in  vain. 

"We  had  better  wind  up  with  a  classical  quota- 
tion of  some  kind,"  concluded  Uncle  Joseph.  '\She 
will  expect  it  from  a  Don  with  paralytic  legs,  1 
fancy.  Reach  me  down  that  Juvenal,  Philip.  I 
have  a  notion.  Yes,  here  we  are:  — 

"  Possibly  you  may  ask,  and  ask  with  justice,  why  the 
University  has  done  nothing  for  me.  I  did  make  an  appeal 
to  the  authorities;  but  —  well,  a  man  hates  to  have  to  appeal 
twice  for  a  thing  that  should  by  rights  be  granted  without 
appeal  at  all;  and  I  desisted.  The  University  is  rich  and 
respectable;  I  am  worn-out  and  shabby.  What  could  I  do? 

Plurima  sunt  quce 
Non  homines  undent  pertusa  dicere  kena. 


SAMSON  AND  DELILAH  43 

"  Get  that  down  right,  Philip.  She  may  take  it 
to  some  educated  person  to  get  it  translated." 

"What  does  it  mean,  Uncle  Joseph?"  asked 
Philip,  carefully  copying  out  the  tag. 

"It  means,  roughly,  that  a  man  with  patches  on 
his  trousers  cannot  afford  to  ask  for  much.  Now 
to  wind  up :  — 

"  So  I  pray  you  —  not  of  your  charity,  but  of  your  good- 
comradeship  —  to  send  me  a  little  work  to  do.  The  remu- 
neration I  leave  to  you.  I  am  too  destitute  —  and  perhaps 
too  proud  —  to  drive  a  bargain. 

Yours  fraternally, 

Arthur  Brown. 

"Put  'Late  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Cam- 
bridge.' You  can  add  the  Islington  address  when 
James  Nimmo  has  fixed  it  up.  Then  type  it  out. 
Do  about  seventy  copies.  I  have  been  going 
through  the  lady  members  of  the  Authors'  Society, 
and  have  picked  out  most  of  its  female  geniuses. 
Now  for  next  week's  list  for  the  Kind  Young 
Hearts!  Three  or  four  of  the  old  items  can  stand 
—  particularly  Papodoodlekos :  he  is  a  very  lucra- 
tive old  gentleman  —  but  the  others  must  come 
out.  I  shall  not  send  the  revised  list,  though,  to 
your  friend  —  what  was  that  humourist's  name?" 

"Mr.  Julius  Mablethorpe,"  said  Philip. 

"That's  the  man.  Now  I  think  of  it,  I  have  read 
some  novels  by  him.  I  shall  not  send  him  the 
revised  list,  but  I  am  grateful  to  him,  all  the  same, 
for  one  or  two  useful  hints.  That  scheme  for  send- 
ing children  to  the  seaside  ought  not  to  have  gone 
in  at  this  time  of  year.  The  foolishness  of  the 


44  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

average  female  philanthropist  is  so  stupendous  that 
one  grows  careless.  Instead,  we  will  substitute  a 
League  of  Playground  Helpers  —  a  band  of  inter- 
fering young  women  whose  primary  act  of  officious- 
ness  shall  be  to  invade  the  East  End  and  instruct 
slum-children  in  the  art  of  playing  games  scientifi- 
cally and  educatively .  There 's  a  great  rage  for  that 
sort  of  thing  just  now,  though  how  one  can  make  a 
mud-pie,  or  play  hop-scotch,  or  throw  kittens  into  a 
canal  scientifically  and  educatively  beats  me.  Still, 
the  idea  is  good  for  a  few  postal  orders." 

The  list  was  completed,  to  a  running  accom- 
paniment of  this  sort,  and  Philip  began  to  put 
away  his  writing  materials. 

Uncle  Joseph  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"There  is  just  time  for  one  more  letter  before 
dinner,"  he  said.  "I  am  going  to  ring  the  changes 
on  Tommy  Smith  a  trifle.  Next  week,  I  think, 
instead  of  writing  to  grown-ups,  he  must  send  an 
ill-spelt  but  touching  appeal  to  some  little  girls. 
About  a  dozen  will  do  —  the  children  of  wealthy  or 
titled  widows.  The  difficulty  will  be  to  get  hold 
of  the  brats'  Christian  names.  However,  we  will 
work  it  somehow.  We  might  say  '  Little  Miss  So- 
and-So,'  or,  'The  Little  Girl  who  lives  with  Mrs. 
So-and-So.'  Either  will  look  childish  and  pretty. 
Just  take  this  down,  and  we  '11  see  how  it  sounds : — 

"Dear  Little  Girl,  —  /  am  only  a  little  boy  about  your 
age,  and  my  Daddy  does  not  know  I  am  writing  to  you. 

"Put  in  spelling  mistakes  as  usual." 

"  My  Daddy  is  a  curate.  We  are  very  poor,  and  he  has 
been  ill  for  months.  I  often  hear  my  mother  crying  in  the 


SAMSON  AND  DELILAH  45 

night,  when  she  thinks  we  are  all  in  bed  asleep.  I  have  no 
sister  of  my  own  —  only  a  little  baby  brother.  How  I  wish 
you  were  my  sister.  Then  you  might  help  me  to  earn  some 
money  for  my  father.  Shall  we  pretend  to  be  brother  and 
sister,  and  then  — 

''Hallo,  Philip,  old  man.  Getting  tired?" 

Philip  had  stopped  writing.  He  was  gazing  dully, 
fixedly,  and  rebelliously  at  the  paper  before  him. 
His  pencil  dropped  from  his  fingers. 

For  nearly  three  years  he  had  been  a  faithful 
secretary  and  a  willing  amanuensis.  He  had  per- 
formed his  duties  mechanically,  without  even  con- 
sidering the  morality  of  his  conduct  or  the  feelings 
of  his  correspondents.  Now,  suddenly,  he  hated 
Uncle  Joseph  and  all  his  works. 

"Why?"  he  wondered. 


ON  Tuesday  morning  Uncle  Joseph  went  away  to 
the  City  as  usual,  and  Philip  was  left  to  his  own 
devices.  Monday  had  been  a  heavy  day,  for  all  the 
new  appeals  had  been  copied  out  and  sent  off.  All, 
that  is,  except  three.  Master  T.  Smith's  elabor- 
ately ill-spelt  epistles  required  time  for  their  com- 
position, and  each,  of  course,  had  to  be  copied  out 
by  hand,  for  it  was  not  to  be  supposed  that  the 
Smiths  possessed  a  typewriter.  So  when  after 
breakfast  Uncle  Joseph  discovered  on  the  bureau 
three  stamped  and  addressed  envelopes  still 
awaiting  enclosures,  he  directed  Philip  to  indite 
three  further  copies  of  Master  T.  Smith's  cele- 
brated appeal  for  a  little  sister,  and  post  them  with 
the  others. 

When  Uncle  Joseph  had  gone,  Philip  set  about 
his  task,  but  with  no  great  zest.  As  a  rule  he  took 
a  professional  pride  in  his  duties,  and  moreover  ex- 
tracted a  certain  relish  from  his  uncle's  literary 
audacities.  The  reader  will  possibly  have  noted 
that  at  this  period  of  his  career  Philip's  sense  of 
humour  was  much  more  highly  developed  than  his 
sense  of  right  and  wrong.  But  during  the  past  few 
days  something  very  big  had  been  stirring  within 
him.  Some  people  would  have  called  it  the  voice  of 


HEREDITY  47 

conscience  —  that  bugbear  of  our  otherwise  happy 
childhood.  Others  would  have  said  with  more 
truth  that  it  was  Heredity  struggling  with  Environ- 
ment. As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  the  instinct  of 
Chivalry,  which,  despite  the  frantic  assurances  of  a 
certain  section  of  our  sisters  that  they  stand  in  no 
need  of  it,  still  lingers  shyly  in  the  hearts  of  men  — 
a  survival  from  the  days  when  a  woman  admitted 
frankly  that  her  weakness  was  her  strength,  and  it 
was  a  knight's  glory  and  privilege  to  devote  such 
strength  as  he  possessed  to  the  protection  of  that 
weakness. 

Philip  no  longer  found  himself  in  sympathy  with 
Uncle  Joseph's  enterprises.  It  was  not  the  enter- 
prises themselves  to  which  he  objected,  for  he 
realized  that  no  one  was  a  penny  the  worse  for 
them,  while  many  were  considerably  the  better. 
But  all  the  newly  awakened  heart  of  this  small 
knight  of  ours  rebelled  against  the  idea  of  imposing 
upon  a  woman.  Philip  felt  that  Uncle  Joseph  must 
be  wrong  about  women.  They  could  not  be  what 
he  thought  them  —  at  least,  not  all  of  them.  And 
even  if  Uncle  Joseph  were  right  in  his  opinion, 
Philip  felt  positive  of  one  thing,  and  that  was  that 
no  woman,  however  undeserving,  should  ever  be 
hardly  treated  or  made  to  suffer  for  her  own  short- 
comings. And  to  this  view  he  held  tenaciously  for 
the  whole  of  his  life. 

At  the  present  moment  it  caused  him  acute  unhap- 
piness  to  be  compelled  to  sit  down  and  pen  sloppy 
effusions  to  little  girls  with  whom  he  was  not  ac- 
quainted, asking  them  to  be  so  good  as  to  consent 
to  become  his  sisters,  or  as  an  alternative  send  a 


48  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

postal  order  by  return.  But  he  was  loyal  to  the 
hand  that  fed  him  and  to  the  man  who  had  been 
his  father  and'  his  mother  for  the  greater  part  of 
his  little  life.  He  wrote  on,  steadily  and  conscien- 
tiously, until  the  three  letters  were  copied  out  and 
ready  for  the  post. 

But  it  is  impossible  to  do  two  things  at  once. 
You  cannot,  for  instance,  write  begging  letters  and 
think  of  blue  cotton  frocks  simultaneously.  In 
copying  out  the  last  letter,  Philip,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  his  wits  were  wandering  on  Hampstead  Heath 
instead  of  directing  his  pen,  was  guilty  of  a  clerical 
error. 

The  residence  of  Master  Thomas  Smith,  it  may 
be  remembered,  was  situated  at  172  Laburnum 
Road,  Balham,  though  overzealous  philanthropists, 
bent  upon  a  personal  investigation  into  the  sad 
circumstances  of  the  Smith  family,  might  have 
experienced  some  difficulty  in  piercing  its  disguise 
as  a  small  tobacconist's  shop.  Now  Philip,  instead 
of  writing  out  this  address  at  the  head  of  the  sheet 
of  dingy  Silurian  notepaper  upon  which  T.  Smith 
was  accustomed  to  conduct  his  correspondence, 
absent-mindedly  wrote  "  Holly  Lodge,  Hampstead, 
N.W."  —  a  lapsus  calami  which  was  destined  to 
alter  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  together  with  that 
of  Uncle  Joseph,  besides  bringing  about  the  disso- 
lution of  an  admirably  conducted  little  business  in 
the  begging-letter  line. 

After  this  he  folded  the  letter  and  fastened  it  up 
in  the  last  envelope  (which,  by  the  way,  was 
addressed  to 


HEREDITY  49 

The  Little  Girl 

Who  lives  with 

Lady  Broadhurst 
Plumbley  Royal 
Hants), 

—  and  sat  down  to  luncheon.  It  was  a  cold  and 
clammy  meal,  for  it  was  washing-day,  and  the  only 
hot  thing  in  the  house  was  James  Nimmo,  who, 
in  the  depths  below,  entangled  in  a  maze  of  moist 
and  clinging  draperies,  was  groping  blasphemously 
in  the  copper  for  the  bluebag.  Washing-day  was 
James  Nimmo's  day  of  humiliation.  Uncle  Joseph 
had  offered  more  than  once  to  have  the  work  sent 
out  to  a  laundry,  but  James  Nimmo  persisted  in 
doing  it  himself,  though  the  lamentable  behaviour 
of  the  maids  next  door,  what  time  he  hung  the 
crumpled  result  of  his  labours  out  upon  the  drying- 
green,  galled  him  to  the  roots  of  his  being. 

After  luncheon  Philip,  calling  downstairs 
through  a  cloud  of  steam  that  he  was  going  out  to 
the  post,  took  up  the  letters  and  his  cap  and  ran 
out  of  the  house,  down  the  short  gravel-sweep,  and 
up  the  road. 

Twenty  minutes  later  he  might  have  been 
observed  diligently  scouring  Hampstead  Heath  in 
search  of  a  blue  cotton  frock  and  a  cerise  leather 
belt. 

n 

"  Hallo,  Phil ! "  remarked  Miss  Falconer,  hastily 
crumpling  up  her  handkerchief  into  a  moist  ball 
and  stuffing  it  into  her  pocket.  Her  back  had  been 
turned,  and  she  had  not  noticed  his  approach. 


50  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Philip  climbed  up  on  the  gate  beside  her. 

"  Tell  me  what  you  have  been  doing  since  I  saw 
you  last,"  commanded  Peggy  briskly. 

"I  have  been  helping  Uncle  Joseph,"  said  Philip, 
rather  reluctantly.  He  was  not  anxious  to  be  drawn 
into  details  upon  this  topic. 

"Uncle  Joseph?  "  The  little  girl  nodded  her  head 
with  an  air  of  great  wisdom.  "I  have  been  talking 
to  Mother  about  him." 

"What  did  you  tell  her?" 

"I  told  her  what  you  told  me,  about  his  not  lik- 
ing women;  and  I  asked  her  why  she  thought  it 
was." 

"What  did  she  say?"  enquired  Philip,  much 
interested.  Of  late  he  had  been  giving  this  point  a 
good  deal  of  consideration  himself. 

"She  said,"  replied  Peggy,  evidently  quoting 
verbatim  and  with  great  care,  "that  there  was 
probably  only  one  woman  in  the  world  who  could 
give  an  answer  to  that  question  —  and  she  never 
would!" 

"What  does  that  mean?"  enquired  the  obtuse 
Philip. 

"It  means,"  explained  Peggy,  adopting  the 
superior  attitude  inevitable  in  the  female,  however 
youthful,  who  sets  out  to  unfold  the  mysteries  of 
the  heart  to  a  member  of  the  unintelligent  sex, 
"that  Uncle  Joseph  was  once  fond  of  a  lady,  and 
she  threw  him  over." 

"But  I  don't  think  that  can  be  true,"  said  Philip 
deferentially.  "Uncle  Joseph  isn't  fond  of  any 
ladies  at  all.  You  have  only  to  hear  him  talk  about 
them  to  know  that.  He  thinks  they  are  an  incu  - 


HEREDITY  51 

incu  —  something.  Anyhow,  it  means  a  heavy 
burden.  They  are  Parry-sites,  too.  He  says  the 
only  way  to  do  one's  work  in  life  is  to  keep  away 
from  women.  How  could  he  be  fond  of  one?" 

"I  expect  he  didn't  always  think  all  those 
things  about  them,"  replied  Peggy  shrewdly. 
"Men  change  with  disappointment,"  she  added, 
with  an  air  of  profound  wisdom. 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  enquired  Philip  re- 
spectfully. Such  matters  were  too  high  for  him. 

"I  have  often  heard  Mother  say  so,"  explained 
Peggy,  "after  Father  has  been  in  one  of  his 
tempers." 

Philip  pondered.  Here  was  a  fresh  puzzle. 

"How  can  your  father  have  been  disappointed?  " 
he  asked.  "He  is  married." 

"It  wasn't  about  being  married  that  he  was 
disappointed,"  said  Peggy.  "You  can  be  disap- 
pointed about  other  things,  you  know,"  she 
explained  indulgently. 

"Oh,"  said  Philip. 

"Yes.  Haven't  you  ever  been  disappointed 
yourself?  Wanting  to  go  to  a  party,  and  not  being 
allowed  to  at  the  last  minute,  and  all  that?" 

"Oh,  yes,"  agreed  Philip.  "Not  parties,  but 
other  things.  But  I  did  n't  know  grown-up  people 
could  be  disappointed  about  anything.  I  thought 
they  could  do  anything  they  liked." 

Hitherto  Philip,  simple  soul,  had  regarded  disap- 
pointment and  hope  deferred  as  part  of  the  neces- 
sary hardships  of  youth,  bound  to  melt  away  in 
due  course,  in  company  with  toothache,  measles, 
tears,  treats,  early  bedtimes,  and  compulsory  edu- 


52  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

cation,  beneath  the  splendid  summer  sun  of  incip- 
ient manhood.  Most  of  us  cherish  the  same  illu- 
sion; and  the  day  upon  which  we  first  realise  that 
quarrels  and  reconciliations,  wild  romps  and  reac- 
tionary dumps,  big  generous  impulses  and  little 
acts  of  petty  selfishness,  secret  ambitions  and  pas- 
sionate longings,  are  not  mere  characteristics  of 
childhood,  to  be  abandoned  at  some  still  distant 
milestone,  but  will  go  on  with  us  right  through  life, 
is  the  day  upon  which  we  become  grown  up. 

To  some  of  us  that  day  comes  early,  and  when- 
ever it  comes  it  throws  us  out  of  our  stride  —  some- 
times quite  seriously.  But  in  time,  if  we  are  of  the 
right  metal,  we  accept  the  facts  of  the  situation, 
shake  ourselves  together,  and  hobble  on  cheerfully 
enough.  In  time  this  cheerfulness  is  increased  by 
the  acquisition  of  two  priceless  pieces  of  knowledge; 
one,  that  things  are  just  as  difficult  for  our  neigh- 
bour as  ourself ;  the  other,  that  by  far  the  greatest 
troubles  in  life  are  those  which  never  arrive,  but 
expect  to  be  met  halfway. 

It  is  the  people  who  grow  up  early  who  do  most 
good  in  the  world,  for  they  find  their  feet  soonest. 
To  others  the  day  comes  late,  —  usually  in  com- 
pany with  some  great  grief  or  loss,  —  and  these  are 
most  to  be  pitied,  for  we  all  know  that  the  older  we 
get  the  harder  it  becomes  to  adapt  ourselves  to  new 
conditions.  Many  a  woman,  for  instance,  passes 
from  twenty  years  of  happy  childhood  straight  into 
twenty  years  of  happy  womanhood  and  mother- 
hood without  speculating  very  deeply  as  to 
whether  she  is  happy  or  not.  Then,  perhaps,  the 
Reaper  comes,  and  takes  her  husband,  or  a  child, 


HEREDITY  53 

and  she  realises  that  she  is  grown  up.  Her  life  will 
be  a  hard  fight  now.  But,  aided  by  the  sweetness 
and  strength  of  Memory,  accumulated  throughout 
the  sunny  years  that  lie  behind,  she  too  will  win 
through. 

There  are  others,  again,  to  whom  the  day  of 
gro wing-up  never  comes  at  all.  They  are  the  feeble 
folk,  perpetually  asking  Why,  and  never  finding 
out.  Still,  they  always  have  to-morrow  to  look 
forward  to,  in  which  they  are  more  fortunate  than 
some. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Marguerite  Falconer  was  ex- 
plaining to  the  untutored  Philip  that  it  is  possible 
for  grown-up  people  to  suffer  disappointment  in 
two  departments  of  life,  — the  only  two,  she  might 
have  added,  that  really  matter  at  all,  —  Love  and 
Work. 

"How  was  your  father  disappointed,  exactly?" 
asked  Philip. 

"He  painted  a  big  picture,"  said  Peggy.  "He 
was  at  it  for  years  and  years,  though  he  was  doing 
a  lot  of  other  ones  at  the  same  time.  He  called  the 
other  ones  *  wolf-scarers,'  because  he  said  there  was 
a  wolf  outside  on  the  Heath  that  wanted  to  get  in 
and  eat  us,  and  these  pictures  would  frighten  any 
wolf  away.  I  used  to  be  afraid  of  meeting  the  wolf 
on  the  Heath  myself  — " 

"You  were  quite  small,  then,  of  course,"  put  in 
Philip  quickly. 

Miss  Falconer  nodded,  in  acknowledgment  of  his 
tact,  and  continued :  — 

* —  but  Nurse  and  Mother  said  there  was  n't  any 
wolf  really.   It  was  a  joke  of  Father's.   He  often 


54  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

makes  jokes  I  don't  understand.  He  is  a  funny 
man.  And  he  did  n't  use  the  pictures  to  frighten 
the  wolves  with  really:  he  sold  them.  But  he  never 
sold  the  big  picture.  He  went  on  working  at  it  and 
working  at  it  for  years  and  years.  He  began  before 
I  was  born,  and  he  only  finished  it  a  few  years  ago, 
so  that  just  shows  you  how  long  he  was.  Whenever 
he  had  sold  a  wolf-scarer  he  used  to  get  back  to  the 
big  picture." 

"What  sort  of  picture  was  it?"  enquired  Philip, 
deeply  interested. 

"It  was  a  very  big  picture,"  replied  Peggy. 

"How  big?" 

Peggy  considered, 

"Bigger  than  this  gate  we  are  sitting  on,"  she 
said  at  last.  "It  was  called  'The  Many-Headed.' 
Father  sometimes  called  it  'Deemouse,'  too,  —  or 
something  like  that." 

"What  was  it  like?" 

Peggy's  eyes  grew  quite  round  with  impressive- 
ness. 

"It  was  the  strangest  thing,"  she  said.  "It  was  a 
great  enormous  giant,  with  heads,  and  heads,  and 
heads!  You  never  saw  such  a  lot  of  heads." 

"I  expect  that  was  why  it  was  called  'The  Many- 
Headed,'  "  observed  Philip  sapiently.  "What  sort 
of  heads  were  they?" 

"They  were  most  of  them  very  ugly,"  continued 
Peggy.  "They  were  twisting  about  everywhere, 
and  each  one  had  its  mouth  wide  open,  shouting. 
Dad  kept  on  putting  new  ones  in.  There  always 
seemed  to  be  room  for  one  more.  Like  sticking 
roses  in  a  bowl,  you  know,  only  these  heads  were  n't 


HEREDITY  55 

like  roses.  After  a  Bank  Holiday  he  nearly  always 
had  two  or  three  fresh  ones." 

"Why?" 

"He  used  to  go  out  then  on  the  Heath  —  to 
study  the  Canal,  he  said,  and  get  fresh  sketches." 

Philip,  who  was  inclined  to  be  a  little  superior 
on  the  subject  of  London  geography,  announced 
firmly  that  there  was  no  canal  on  Hampstead 
Heath. 

"Only  in  Regent's  Park,"  he  said.  "Besides, 
why  should  he  sketch  a  canal?" 

It  was  Peggy's  turn  to  be  superior. 

"Canal,"  she  explained,  "is  a  French  word,  and 
means  people  —  people  with  concertinas  and  ba- 
nanas, who  sing  and  wear  each  other's  hats,  and 
leave  paper  about.  Dad  would  sketch  them  when 
they  were  n't  looking,  and  then  put  them  into  the 
picture.  Oh,  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  the  giant  had 
great  huge  hands,  and  he  was  clutching  everything 
he  could  lay  his  hands  on  —  castles,  and  moun- 
tains, and  live  people.  He  had  a  real  king,  with  a 
crown  on,  between  his  finger  and  thumb." 

'  *  What  about  the  disappointment?  "  asked  Philip. 

"The  disappointment?  Oh,  yes;  I  forgot.  Well, 
at  last  the  picture  was  finished  and  sent  away  —  in 
a  lovely  frame.  But  it  came  back.  One  afternoon  I 
went  into  the  studio,  and  there  was  Father.  He 
was  sitting  very  quiet  and  still  on  a  little  stool  in 
front  of  the  picture.  He  never  moved,  or  looked 
round,  or  said  '  Go  away ! '  when  I  came  in.  I  was  so 
surprised.  For  a  long  time  he  had  been  having  a 
lot  of  bad  tempers,  so  when  I  saw  him  sitting  so 
still  and  quiet  I  was  quite  frightened. 


56  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"I  went  and  stood  beside  him,  and  looked  at  the 
picture,  too.  Then  he  saw  me,  and  said:  'It  has 
come  back,  you  see,  Peggy!'  He  said  it  two  or 
three  tunes,  I  think.  'There  are  eight  years  of  a 
man's  life  in  that  picture  —  eight  years  of  a  man's 
body  and  blood  and  bones!  And  it  has  been  sent 
back  —  sent  back,  by  a  parcel  of  promoted  house- 
painters  who  dare  n't  let  such  a  piece  of  work  hang 
on  their  walls  because  they  know  it  would  kill  every 
filthy  daub  of  their  own  within  reach ! ' 

"Then  he  asked  me  what  we  should  do  with  it. 
I  said  —  of  course  I  was  quite  small  then  —  that  I 
thought  if  he  took  it  and  showed  it  to  the  wolf  it 
would  frighten  him  away  altogether.  That  made 
him  laugh.  He  laughed  in  a  funny  way,  too,  and 
went  on  so  long  that  I  thought  he  would  never 
leave  off.  At  last  he  stopped,  and  made  a  queer 
noise  in  his  throat,  and  said:  'No,  we  won't  do 
that.  I  will  show  you  a  more  excellent  way.'  He 
said  that  two  or  three  times  over,  like  he  did  before. 
Then  he  got  up,  and  went  and  pulled  a  big  sword 
and  dagger  out  of  a  rack  of  armour  and  stuff  in  the 
corner,  and  said:  'Now  for  some  real  fun,  Peggy!' 
and  we  cut  up  the  picture  into  little  bits.  Father 
slashed  and  slashed  at  it  with  the  sword,  and  I 
poked  holes  in  it  with  the  dagger." 

"What  fun!"  said  Philip,  the  chord  of  destruc- 
tion thrilling  within  him. 

"Yes,  was  n't  it?  I  remember  I  cut  the  king 
with  the  crown  on  right  out  of  the  picture,  with  the 
giant's  finger  and  thumb  still  round  him.  I  kept  it 
for  a  long  time,  but  I  lost  it  at  last.  When  we  had 
slashed  the  picture  all  to  bits,  Dad  tore  it  out  of  its 


HEREDITY  57 

frame  and  rolled  it  up  into  a  bundle  and  threw  it 
into  a  corner.  Then  he  went  out  for  a  long  walk, 
without  his  hat.  When  Mother  came  home  she 
cried.  It  was  the  only  time  I  ever  saw  her  cry.  I 
did  n't  know  till  then  that  grown-up  people  did.  I 
cried,  t6o.  I  was  little  then." 

"Has  your  father  painted  any  more  pictures?" 
asked  Philip,  diverting  the  conversation. 

"No  —  never.  He  only  paints  wolf-scarers  now. 
I  tell  him  what  to  paint." 

Philip's  eyebrows  rose,  despite  themselves. 

"Yes,  I  do!"  maintained  Miss  Falconer  stoutly. 
"The  other  day  he  said  to  me:  'Here,  Peggy,  you 
understand  the  taste  of  the  Hoypolloy '  -  that 's 
another  French  word  for  people  —  '  so  give  me  an 
idea  for  a  pot-boiler.'  (He  calls  wolf-scarers  'pot- 
boilers '  sometimes :  I  don't  know  why.)  And  I 
said:  'Well,  I  think  it  would  be  nice  to  have  a  pic- 
ture of  a  little  girl  in  a  lovely  frock  with  a  new  doll, 
showing  it  round  the  doll's  house  and  introducing 
it  to  all  the  other  dolls.'  He  laughed,  and  said : 
'That's  capital.  I  bet  a  sovereign  they  put  that 
one  on  the  line.'  When  I  asked  what  line,  he  said, 
'the  clothes  line.'  He  is  a  funnyman,"  concluded 
Peggy  once  more. 

They  sat  on  for  some  time,  discussing  adult 
peculiarities.  Finally  Philip  announced  that  he 
must  go,  for  Uncle  Joseph  would  return  at  four 
o'clock  and  expect  him  to  tea.  As  they  parted, 
Philip  enquired  awkwardly :  - 

"I  say,  Pegs,  —  will  you  tell  me?  I  couldn't 
help  wondering  about  something  just  now." 

"What  was  it?"  enquired  Peggy  graciously. 


58  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Philip  asked  his  question  too  bluntly. 

Miss  Peggy's  small  frame  stiffened  indignantly. 

"I  was  n't  ever  doing  any  such  thing,"  she 
announced  in  outraged  tones. 

Philip,  whose  knowledge  of  the  sex  was  improv- 
ing, had  the  sense  to  withdraw  the  imputation  and 
apologise  at  once.  Then  he  waited. 

"Perhaps  I  was,  just  a  little  bit,"  admitted 
Peggy  presently. 

"What  was  the  matter?"  asked  Philip  gently. 

"It  was  Father.  He  boxed  my  ears  after  lunch, 
for  making  a  noise.  I  was  only  singing,  but  he  is  in 
one  of  his  bad  tempers  just  now.  He  will  be  all 
right  in  a  day  or  two." 

Philip,  much  to  his  surprise,  found  himself 
trembling  with  indignation. 

"Does  he  do  it  often?"  he  asked  between  his 
clenched  teeth. 

"No,  not  often.  Besides,  he  can't  help  it.  Men 
are  just  like  children,  Mother  says.  You  have  to 
make  allowances  for  them.  I  always  try  to  remem- 
ber that.  The  daily  work  of  half  the  women  in  the 
world  is  to  make  allowances  for  some  man  or  other, 
Mother  says.  Good-night,  Phil!" 

"Good-night,  Pegs!" 

The  little  girl  ran  off  through  the  gathering  gloom, 
turning  to  wave  her  hand  before  she  disappeared. 

Philip  walked  slowly  home,  pondering  in  his 
heart  yet  another  (and  quite  unsuspected)  aspect 
of  the  relations  between  men  and  women. 

There  were  two  sides  to  every  question,  it 
appeared. 

His  education  was  proceeding  apace. 


CHAPTER  V 

MISTAKEN  IDENTITY 

UNCLE  JOSEPH  had  an  adventure  in  town  which 
amused  him  immensely. 

The  International  Brotherhood  of  Kind  Young 
Hearts,  it  may  be  remembered,  radiated  its  appeals 
from  within  the  precincts  of  Pontifex  Mansions, 
Shaftesbury  Avenue.  It  was  quite  a  good  address, 
but,  like  many  of  the  good  things  of  this  world, 
looked  best  on  paper. 

The  Kind  Young  Hearts  rented  a  small  office- 
flat  at  the  top  of  a  block  of  rather  out-of-date 
buildings  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Dean  Street. 
The  flat  was  uninhabited,  and  contained  not  a 
particle  of  furniture  of  any  description  except  a 
capacious  letter-box;  but  these  deficiencies,  which 
might  have  roused  unworthy  suspicions  in  the 
breasts  of  some  of  the  more  worldly  of  Uncle 
Joseph's  supporters,  were  covered  by  the  fact  that 
the  door  was  double-locked,  and  no  subscriber  had 
ever  entered  the  premises.  On  the  door  itself  the 
name  of  the  Society  was  painted  in  neat  black 
letters.  Underneath  was  pinned  a  typewritten 
notice,  —  of  an  apparently  temporary  character, 
but  in  reality  as  enduring  as  Uncle  Joseph's  ten- 
ancy, —  to  the  effect  that  the  Secretary  had  been 
called  away  to  the  country  on  an  urgent  case,  but 
hoped  to  return  shortly. 


60  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

It  was  Uncle  Joseph's  custom  to  make  a  periodi- 
cal inspection  of  this  establishment,  though  he  left 
to  James  Nimmo  the  task  of  making  the  weekly 
collection  of  letters.  On  this  occasion  all  seemed  in 
order.  No  restive  subscriber  waited  on  the  land- 
ing; no  emissary  of  the  law,  masquerading  as  a  star- 
gazer,  lounged  in  the  street  outside.  No  one  had 
tampered  with  the  Chubb  lock  on  the  door.  No 
one  had  scribbled  opprobrious  comments  across 
the  Secretary's  notice.  All  was  peace. 

Uncle  Joseph  entered  the  flat.  The  box  con- 
tained half  a  dozen  letters,  which  he  opened  and 
read  in  the  dusty  sunlight  of  the  office. 

Meanwhile  Mr.  Charles  Turner,  junior  member 
of  the  editorial  staff  of  the  "Searchlight,"  was 
mounting  the  staircase  with  all  the  headlong  eager- 
ness of  a  young  and  inexperienced  fox-terrier  in 
pursuit  of  his  first  rat.  He  took  himself  seriously, 
did  Turner,  which  was  a  pity;  for  a  touch  of  hu- 
mour is  indispensable  to  a  man  whose  profession  it 
is  to  expose  humbugs.  Dill,  his  chief,  possessed  this 
quality  in  perfection,  with  a  strong  dash  of  cyni- 
cism thrown  in.  He  knew  that  righteous  wrath  was 
wasted  upon  the  tribe  of  quacks  and  sharpers.  He 
never  invoked  the  assistance  of  the  law  against 
such  gentry.  He  preferred  the  infinitely  more 
amusing  plan  of  exposing  their  methods  in  cold 
print  and  leaving  it  to  them  to  invoke  the  as- 
sistance of  the  law  against  him.  Consequently 
his  name  was  a  hissing  and  an  abomination 
among  all  the  fraternity,  while  the  British  Public, 
though  strongly  suspicious  of  Dill's  sense  of  hu- 
mour, took  in,  read,  and  profited  by  the  "Search- 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY  61 

light"  in  general  and  its  Rogues'  Catalogue  in 
particular. 

The  "Searchlight"  was  unique.  There  were 
other  organs  which  made  a  speciality  of  exposing 
quackery,  but  these  could  seldom  resist  the  temp- 
tation of  endeavouring  —  usually  successfully  — 
to  blackmail  the  quack  as  an  alternative  to  expos- 
ing him.  But  the  "Searchlight"  was  above  sus- 
picion. It  had  never  attempted  to  run  with  the 
hare  and  hunt  with  the  hounds,  for  the  excellent 
reason  that  such  a  proceeding  would  have  bored 
its  proprietor.  Dill  harried  the  unjust,  not  from 
any  special  feeling  of  tenderness  towards  the  just, 
but  in  order  to  gratify  his  own  rather  impish  sense 
of  humour.  He  had  no  special  regard  for  the  feel- 
ings or  pocket  of  the  British  Public,  but  he  loved 
to  clap  an  impostor  in  the  pillory  and  watch  him 
squirm. 

This  was  the  seventh  visit  of  the  zealous  Turner 
to  the  headquarters  of  the  Kind  Young  Hearts. 
He  had  missed  James  Nimmo  on  the  previous 
Thursday,  for  that  astute  emissary  always  made 
his  call  for  the  letters  about  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning :  so  Turner  was  still  without  evidence  as  to 
whether  the  flat  was  in  use  at  all.  His  gratification, 
then,  on  beholding  the  door  standing  open  was 
extreme. 

He  peeped  inside.  Standing  by  the  window  of 
the  bare  and  dusty  room  he  beheld  a  middle-aged, 
military-looking  gentleman  perusing  letters.  The 
enemy  was  delivered  into  his  hands.  He  tapped  at 
the  door  and  walked  in. 

Uncle  Joseph  looked  up  from  the  last  letter,  and 


62  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

gave  Mr.  Turner  a  polite  good-morning.  The 
sleuth-hound  replied  in  suitable  terms,  and  em- 
barked upon  a  tactful  yet  deadly  cross-examina- 
tion, long  laid  up  in  readiness  for  such  an  opportu- 
nity as  this. 

But  he  was  faced  with  a  difficulty  at  the  outset. 
Anxious  not  to  alarm  his  quarry,  he  had  decided  to 
open  the  attack  with  a  few  pleasant  observations 
upon  the  convenient  situation  of  the  office  and  the 
tasteful  character  of  its  furniture  and  appoint- 
ments. So,  hastily  reining  back  his  opening  sen- 
tence, which  began:  "This  is  a  snug  little  establish- 
ment of  yours,  sir.  I  expect  you  get  through  a  lot 
of  solid  business  here,"  —  which  sprang  automati- 
cally to  his  lips, — Mr.  Turner  remarked:  — 

"I  have  called  in  reference  to  a  circular  which 
you  sent  me  a  few  days  ago." 

"Did  I?"  replied  Uncle  Joseph  blandly. 

"Yes.  It  was  an  appeal  for  funds  for  the  Inter- 
national Brotherhood  of  Kind  Young  Hearts." 

"This  is  most  interesting,"  said  Uncle  Joseph, 
putting  his  letters  back  into  their  envelopes.  "But 
tell  me,  how  do  you  know  that  it  was  I  who  sent 
you  a  circular;  and  why  have  you  tracked  me  to 
an  empty  flat  in  Soho  to  talk  to  me  about  it?" 

"Are  n't  these  the  offices  of  the  Brotherhood  of 
Kind  Young  Hearts?"  asked  Turner,  a  little 
abashed. 

Uncle  Joseph  smiled  indulgently,  and  looked 
round  him. 

"They  don't  look  very  like  the  offices  of  a  charit- 
able organization,"  he  said  —  "do  they?  Charity 
begins  in  a  home,  you  know.  That  being  the  case,  I 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY  63 

rather  fancy  your  Kind-Hearted  friends  would  at 
least  have  furnished  themselves  with  something  to 
sit  down  on." 

But  Turner,  although  he  was  young  and  inex- 
perienced, was  no  fool.  Otherwise  he  would  not 
have  been  upon  the  staff  of  the  "Searchlight." 

"Charitable  organizations  sometimes  employ 
accommodation  addresses,"  he  said,  regarding 
Uncle  Joseph  keenly;  "especially  when  they  are 
not  quite  —  you  see?  " 

Uncle  Joseph  nodded  comprehendingly. 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  "I  see.  Well,  Mr.  — I 
don't  think  I  caught  your  name." 

"Turner." 

"Thank  you.  Well,  Mr.  Turner,  accommodation 
address  or  not,  I  am  afraid  your  birds  are  flown. 
You  will  have  to  seek  them  in  some  other  eyrie. 
You  see,  I  have  been  in  possession  of  this  flat  for 
some  few  days  now.  In  fact,  several  letters  have 
already  been  addressed  to  me  here." 

He  held  out  the  little  bundle  of  envelopes,  in 
such  a  way  that  Mr.  Turner  found  it  quite  impos- 
sible to  read  the  addresses,  and  then  put  them  back 
into  his  pocket. 

"I  must  have  the  name  on  that  door  painted 
out,"  continued  Uncle  Joseph  briskly,  "or  I  may 
have  more  investigators  descending  upon  me.  Not 
that  I  am  anything  but  delighted  to  make  your 
acquaintance,  Mr.  — " 

"Are  you  quite  sure,"  said  Turner  steadily, 
"that  you  are  not  the  Secretary  of  the  organization 
whose  name  is  painted  on  that  door?" 

Uncle  Joseph  laughed  easily. 


64  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Under  this  impressive  cross-examination,"  he 
said,  "I  know  I  shall  presently  feel  quite  certain 
that  I  am!  Mr.  Turner,  you  fill  me  with  guilty 
apprehensions.  It  is  a  great  gift  of  yours.  May  I 
ask  if  you  are  a  representative  of  the  law?  Or  are 
you  the  emissary  of  some  newspaper?  Or  are  you 
merely  taking  up  detection  as  a  hobby?" 

Turner  flushed.  He  felt  certain  that  he  was  being 
bluffed,  but  Uncle  Joseph  would  give  him  no  open- 
ing. 

"I  represent  the  'Searchlight,'"  he  said. 

"In  that  case,"  said  Uncle  Joseph  cheerfully,  "I 
shall  be  delighted  to  offer  you  a  lift  back  to  the 
office.  I  am  going  to  call  on  Mr.  Dill  at  twelve 
o'clock.  Come  downstairs,  and  let  us  see  if  we  can 
get  a  cab  anywhere." 

He  locked  the  door  of  the  flat,  and  proceeded 
cheerfully  down  the  staircase,  followed  by  the 
dazed  and  defeated  Mr.  Turner. 

Ten  minutes  later  Uncle  Joseph  was  shaking 
hands  with  Dill. 

"I  have  just  had  a  narrow  escape  of  being  haled 
to  justice  by  one  of  your  bright  young  men,"  he 
said;  and  recounted  his  adventure. 

Dill,  lying  back  in  his  chair  and  smoking  a 
cigarette,  —  it  was  said  that  he  got  through  a  box 
a  day,  —  heard  the  story  and  chuckled. 

"An  unlucky  coincidence  for  Turner,"  he  said. 
"Still,  he  is  all  right.  He  is  young,  and  wants  a  bit 
more  savvy,  but  he  is  a  glutton  for  work  and  as 
plucky  as  they  make  them.  I  always  send  him 
where  I  think  there  is  a  likelihood  of  any  chucking- 
out  being  attempted.  I  am  quite  at  sea  about  this 


MISTAKEN  IDENTITY  65 

Kind  Heart  business.  It  is  evidently  a  biggish 
affair,  with  a  big  man  behind  it.  I  can't  make  out 
whether  he  is  an  old  friend,  or  a  new  candidate  for 
the  Rogues'  Catalogue  altogether.  But  I'll  nab 
him  yet.  Have  another  cigarette?" 

"How  are  your  Christmas  charities  going?" 
enquired  Uncle  Joseph,  helping  himself. 

"Not  too  well,"  said  Dill.  "In  the  old  days 
things  were  simple  enough.  I  asked  for  the  money 
and  I  got  it.  Now  the  public  are  bled  white  either 
by  knaves  like  this  fellow  who  runs  the  Kind 
Hearts,  or  a  parcel  of  incompetent  sentimental 
old  women  who  waste  one  half  of  what  they  get  on 
expenses  and  the  other  half  on  pauperisation.  I 
have  had  a  deficit  each  year  for  three  years  now." 

Uncle  Joseph  took  out  a  pocket-book,  and 
counted  out  twenty  five-pound  notes. 

"I  can  run  to  a  little  more  this  year,"  he  said. 
"Here  you  are  —  fifty  for  the  free  dinners  and 
fifty  for  the  toy-distribution.  Anonymous,  of 
course,  as  usual." 

Dill  gathered  up  the  money. 

"Meldrum,"  he  said,  —  and  his  voice  sounded 
less  like  a  raven's  than  usual,  —  "you  are  a  white 
man.  I  say  no  more." 

"Good-morning,"  said  Uncle  Joseph. 


CHAPTER  VI 

RENOVARE   DOLOREM 

THE  leaven  was  working. 

One  evening  after  tea  Philip  took  a  big  breath 
and  addressed  his  uncle. 

"Uncle  Joseph,"  he  said,  "I  was  talking  to  a 
little  girl  on  Hampstead  Heath  to-day." 

"More  fool  you,"  was  the  genial  response. 
"What  were  you  talking  about?" 

"You,"  said  Philip,  a  little  unexpectedly. 

Uncle  Joseph  looked  up. 

"Oh,"  he  said.   "Why  was  I  so  honoured?" 

Philip  explained,  in  his  deliberate  fashion. 

"She  was  that  little  girl  we  passed  on  Sunday," 
he  said,  "sitting  on  a  gate.  She  smiled  at  me,  and 
you  told  me  it  was  only  an  instinct.  A  prebby  —  a 
prebby — " 

Uncle  Joseph  assisted  him. 

" —  predatory  instinct.  Well,  I  met  her  again 
one  day,  and  I  told  her  what  you  said.  I  explained 
that  you  knew  all  women  were  dangerous,  and 
were  the  great  stumbling-block  to  a  man's  work  in 
life.  Also  parasites." 

Uncle  Joseph  smiled  grimly. 

"Well,  and  what  did  she  say  to  that?"  he 
enquired. 

"She  said  she  would  ask  her  mother  about  it." 

Uncle  Joseph  nodded. 


RENOVARE  DOLOREM  67 

"They  always  do,"  he  commented.  "And  what 
did  Mother  say?" 

"Her  mother  said  —  "  Philip  hesitated. 

"Go  on,"  said  Uncle  Joseph  quietly. 

"She  said  that  —  that  the  reason  why  you 
thought  that  all  women  should  be  avoided  was 
known  only  to  one  woman,  and  she  would  n'ttell." 

Colonel  Meldrum  rose  to  his  feet,  and  laid  his 
pipe  upon  the  mantelpiece  with  a  slight  clatter. 
Philip  eyed  him  curiously.  There  was  a  change  in 
his  appearance.  He  seemed  to  have  grown  older 
during  the  last  ten  seconds.  The  lines  of  his  face 
were  sharper,  and  his  stiff  shoulders  drooped  a 
little. 

Then  came  a  long  and  deathlike  stillness.  Uncle 
Joseph  had  turned  his  back,  and  was  gazing  into 
the  glowing  fire,  with  his  head  resting  on  his  arms. 
Philip,  feeling  a  little  frightened,  waited. 

At  last  Uncle  Joseph  spoke. 

"How  old  are  you,  boy?"  he  asked. 

"Fourteen,"  said  Philip. 

There  was  another  silence.  Then  Uncle  Joseph 
spoke  again. 

"You  should  be  old  enough  to  understand  now. 
Your  friend's  mother  was  right,  Phil.  Would  you 
like  to  hear  the  story?" 

"Yes,  please,"  said  Philip. 

Uncle  Joseph  turned  round. 

"Why?"  he  asked  curiously. 

Philip  replied  with  characteristic  frankness. 

"Because,"  he  said,  "it  might  make  it  easier  for 
me  to  keep  away  from  all  women,  like  what  you 
told  me  to  do,  if  I  knew  the  reason  why  I  ought  to." 


68  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"You  are  beginning  to  find  it  difficult,  then?" 
Philip,  thinking  of  a  blue  cotton  frock  and  a  pair 
of  brown  eyes,  nodded. 

"Then  I  will  try  and  make  it  easier  for  you," 
said  Uncle  Joseph.  "It  is  my  plain  duty  to  do  so, 
for  if  once  you  get  into  your  head  the  notion  that 
woman  is  man's  better  half  and  guiding  angel,  or 
any  sentimental,  insidious  nonsense  of  that  kind, 
you  are  doomed.  Your  father  allowed  himself  to 
cherish  such  beliefs,  and  he  died  of  a  broken  heart 
before  he  was  thirty.  You  are  your  father's  son." 
"Who  broke  his  heart?"  asked  Philip,  looking 
up  quickly.  It  was  the  first  time  that  Uncle  Joseph 
had  ever  mentioned  his  father  to  him. 

"Your  mother,"  said  Uncle  Joseph  bluntly. 
"She  broke  another  man's  heart  later  on,  but  that 
is  another  story.  Perhaps  the  other  man  deserved 
it,  but  your  father,  above  all  men,  did  not.  Have 
we  read  Tennyson  together?" 

"Yes,"  said  Philip.  "'The  Idylls  of  the  King.'" 

"You  remember  King  Arthur?" 

Philip  nodded,  beginning  dimly  to  comprehend. 

"Well,  your  mother  was  Guinevere." 

Philip  was  silent  for  a  while.  Then  he  asked :  — 

"Is  that  why  you  say  we  must  avoid  all  women?  " 

"Partly.  There  was  my  own  case  as  well.  When 

I  was  well  over  thirty,  Philip,  I  fell  in  love.   I  had 

never  loved  any  woman  before,  because  my  whole 

life  and  soul  were  bound  up  in  the  regiment.  I  fell 

in  love  with  the  regiment  when  I  joined  it  as  a  little 

subaltern,  and  I  worshipped  it  for  sixteen  years. 

In  course  of  time  they  made  me  adjutant,  which 

cures  most  men  of  such  predilections,  but  it  only 


RENOVARE  DOLOREM  69 

made  me  feel  as  proud  as  a  hen  with  eight  hundred 
chickens.  Then,  just  as  I  got  my  final  step  and 
became  commanding  officer,  I  met  a  girl  and  fell  in 
love  with  her.  It  was  in  Calcutta.  She  was  the 
spoiled  beauty  of  that  season,  and  I  was  the  young- 
est colonel  in  the  Indian  Army,  so  everybody 
thought  it  a  very  suitable  match. 

"We  did  not  get  engaged  for  quite  a  long  time, 
though.  Oh,  no!  First  of  all,  I  had  to  learn  to 
dance  attendance.  As  I  say,  I  had  never  been  in 
love  before,  or  even  had  any  great  experience  of 
women.  All  my  time  had  been  lavished  on  the 
regiment.  So  I  laboured  under  the  delusion  that  if 
a  man  loved  a  woman,  his  proper  course  was  to  tell 
her  so  straight,  and  prove  his  words  by  devoting 
himself  to  her  service.  I  have  learned  wisdom  since 
then,  but  that  was  what  I  thought  at  the  time." 

"What  ought  you  to  have  done,  Uncle  Joseph?" 
asked  Philip  curiously. 

"I  ought  either  to  have  bulllied  her,  or  gone  and 
made  love  to  another  girl.  Those  are  the  only  two 
arguments  which  a  woman  appreciates.  But  I 
made  myself  too  cheap.  This  girl,  as  soon  as  she 
found  that  she  was  quite  sure  of  me,  began  to  play 
with  me.  She  ordered  me  about  in  public,  and  I 
loved  her  so  much  that  I  obeyed  her,  and  did  not 
regard  her  behaviour  as  the  least  underbred  or 
vulgar.  She  gave  me  rather  degrading  odd  jobs  to 
do,  and  I  did  them,  proud  to  think  that  I  was  her 
squire.  As  for  presents,  if  I  gave  her  something 
that  she  did  not  chance  to  want  or  possessed  al- 
ready, it  was  declined  with  every  manifestation  of 
offended  propriety,  but  if  she  did  happen  to  require 


70  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

mvthing,  she  told  me  to  get  it  for  her,  and  I  did  so 
ffiTfor  I  felt  that  all  these  little  trifles  were 
gradually  binding  us  together.    I  had  not  quite 
~d  a  woman's  idea  of  playing  the  game  m 
those  days,  you  see.   I  thought  all  th,s  aloofness 
of  hers  was  due  to  a  young  girl's  reserve  of  charac- 
ter, and  that,  being  too  shy  and  timid  to  tell  me  m 
so  many  words  that  she  cared  for  me,  she  was 
accepting  all  my  devotion  and  my  little  offermgs 
purposely  and  deliberately,  in  order  to  show  me 
that,  although  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  say 
the  word  at  present,  she  meant  to  do  the  square 
Jung  in  the  end.  I  loved  her  for  thai,  and  tried  to 
be  patient.   But  once,  when  I,  presuming  on  this 
theory  of  mine,  suggested  to  her  that  she  must  care 
for  me  rather  more  than  she  gave  me  to  under- 
stand, she  flashed  out  at  me  and  told  me  that  1 
ought  to  be  proud  to  serve  her  free  V**!***' 
nothing,  and  that  a  true  knight  never  hoped  for  any 
reward  from  his  lady  otherwise  than  an  occasional 
smile  and  word  of  thanks.  On  the  whole  I  thmk 
that  was  the  most  outrageous  statement  I  have 
ever  heard  fall  from  the  lips  of  a  human  being;  but 
as  uttered  by  her  it  actually  sounded  ™ther  spkn- 
did!   It  made  me  feel  quite  ashamed  of  myself, 
Philip.  I  said  I  was  a  mercenary  brute,  and  asked 
her  to  forgive  me.   This,  after  I  had  made  an  ab- 
ject exhibition  of  myself,  she  ultimately  did 

"For  the  next  few  months  I  had  a  pretty  bad 
time  of  it.  I  loved  her  too  much  to  keep  away  from 
her  but  my  self-respect  was  at  zero.  I  had  to  put 
my  pride  in  my  pocket  and  undergo  some  humih- 
ation  nearly  every  day.  To  stand  about  for  hours, 


RENOVARE  DOLOREM  71 

waiting  for  a  dance,  perhaps  to  have  it  cut  in  the 
end;  to  dash  off  parade  and  change  out  of  uniform 
and  gallop  away  to  a  riding  appointment,  perhaps 
to  find  that  she  had  forgotten  all  about  it;  to  be 
compelled  to  laugh  and  look  amused  when  she  said 
uncharitable  things  about  my  best  friends  —  that 
was  my  daily  round,  Philip.  Yes,  they  were  stiff 
days,  and  I  saw  they  would  get  worse.  When  you 
find  yourself  gradually  ceasing  to  respect  a  woman 
without  ceasing  to  love  her,  then  you^are  in  for  a 
demoralizing  time,  my  son. 

"But  I  endured  it  all.  I  summoned  up  fresh 
stocks  of  patience  and  philosophy.  I  told  myself 
that  she  was  only  a  child,  and  a  spoiled  child  at 
that;  and  that  she  would  shake  down  presently. 
When  she  was  a  little  older  and  wiser,  she  would 
realise  what  humiliation  she  had  often  heaped  upon 
me,  and  she  would  come  and  say  she  was  sorry,  in 
her  pretty  way,  and  ask  me  to  forgive  her;  and  I 
would  do  so,  and  we  would  live  happily  ever  after- 
wards. Meanwhile  I  must  be  enormously  patient. 

"Then  suddenly,  without  any  sort  of  warning, 
just  as  I  was  reaching  the  limit  of  physical  endur- 
ance, —  there  is  a  physical  side  to  these  things, 
Philip,  as  you  may  find  some  day,  —  she  capitu- 
lated, and  we  became  engaged.  For  a  fortnight  I 
lived  in  the  clouds.  I  gave  her  all  the  presents  I 
could  think  of,  and  then  sat  down  and  unfolded  to 
her  all  my  dreams  and  visions  for  the  future.  I  told 
her  how  proud  the  regiment  would  be  of  her,  and 
what  a  splendid  regiment  we  would  make  of  it 
between  us.  I  confessed  to  her,  just  like  a  penitent 
child,  that  I  had  been  neglecting  the  regiment  of 


72  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

late,  all  on  her  account.  Now  that  the  suspense 
and  worry  was  over  I  meant  to  work  double  tides 
and  make  the  old  regiment  twice  as  efficient  as  it 
had  ever  been.  I  told  her  I  felt  like  a  giant  re- 
freshed. With  her  beside  me,  there  was  no  limit  to 
things  we  might  do  with  that  regiment. 

"Then  Vivien  — that  was  her  name  — inter- 
rupted me.  She  said,  in  her  pretty  imperious 

way:  — 

"'Joe  dear,  your  regiment  bores  me.  You  never 
talk  of  anything  else.  In  future  I  forbid  you  to 
mention  it  in  my  presence.'  Then  she  kissed  me, 
and  took  me  off  to  a  tea-fight." 

Uncle  Joseph,  who  had  been  striding  about  the 
room  during  this  narration,  suddenly  halted  and 
faced  his  nephew. 

"Looking  back  now,"  he  said,  "it  is  plain  to  me 
that  this  was  the  point  at  which  I  ought  to  have 
made  a  stand.   I  should  have  taken  Vivi  firmly, 
and   said  to  her:   'My   dearest   child,' -- Uncle 
Joseph's  voice  dropped  to  a  gentle,  caressing  mur- 
mur, but  he  recovered  himself  with  a  jerk,— 
'understand  this.  A  man's  work  is  his  life.  It  is  his 
father  and  his  mother,  and  his  meat  and  his  drink, 
and  the  air  he  breathes;  and  the  woman  who  mar- 
ries him  must  be  prepared  to  stand  by  his  side  and 
see  him  through  it,  and  not  to  hang  round  his  neck 
and  get  between  him  and  what  he  has  to  do.  bhe 
must  sympathise  with  him  when  things  go  wrong, 
and  share  his  satisfaction  when  they  come  right 
again.  If  she  grows  jealous  of  his  work  and  tries  to 
detach  him  from  it,  there  will  be  a  disaster.  There- 
fore you  must  take  me  and  my  work  together  or 


RENOVARE  DOLOREM  73 

forswear  us  both,  for  they  cannot  be  divided.' 
That  is  what  I  should  have  said,  Philip,  for  I  knew 
it  was  true,  even  as  she  kissed  me.  But  I  did  n't. 
I  thought  I  should  be  able  to  educate  her  up  to 
appreciation  of  my  beloved  regiment,  and  that  her 
prejudice  and  selfishness  would  weaken  in  time. 

"But  I  was  wrong.  It  was  I  who  weakened.  I 
began  by  turning  out  less  frequently  at  parade.  I 
began  to  cut  mess.  I  began  to  lose  touch  with  the 
rank  and  file.  Formerly  it  had  been  my  pride  to 
know  the  name  of  every  man  in  my  regiment,  and 
something  about  him.  Soon  I  found  myself  saluted 
by  men  on  the  parade-ground  whose  faces  I  did  not 
recognise.  Then  I  began  to  listen  to  Vivien's  criti- 
cisms of  my  officers.  She  sneered  at  my  subalterns, 
because  some  of  them  were  hard  up  and  could  not 
keep  polo  ponies.  She  called  them  'a  fusty  lot,'  — 
half  of  them  had  seen  active  service  before  they 
were  twenty-one,  —  and  compared  them  unfavour- 
ably with  the  Viceroy's  Staff.  She  appeared  to 
regard  my  affection  for  them  as  a  sort  of  slight  to 
herself.  She  looked  down  on  my  splendid  little 
Gurkhas,  and  said  it  was  a  pity  I  could  not  get 
command  of  a  white  regiment.  And  I,  instead  of 
telling  her  straight  that  she  must  never  speak  in 
that  way  of  my  men  again,  began  by  making  a  few 
lame  excuses  for  them  and  ended  by  acquiescing 
in  her  opinions.  I  found  myself  patronising  my 
own  officers  —  some  of  the  finest  soldiers  in  the 
Service  —  and  drifting  into  an  attitude  of  super- 
ciliousness towards  soldiering  in  general.  And  all 
this,  Philip,  arose  from  that  ennobling  passion, 
Love! 


74 

"Then,  when  the  hot  weather  came,  she  went 
away  to  Simla.  I  was  to  follow  her  in  a  month. 
During  that  month  I  came  to  myself  again.  I 
realised,  once  and  for  all,  that  a  man's  duty  comes 
first  in  this  world,  and  straightway  I  saw  life 
clearly  and  as  a  whole  once  more.  The  cloud  that 
had  settled  over  the  regiment  lifted  again,  and  by 
the  time  I  went  on  leave  we  were  as  happy  a  band 
as  ever. 

"I  travelled  up  to  the  hills  full  of  tremendous 
emotions,  Philip.  In  the  first  place,  I  had  not  seen 
Vivien  for  over  a  month,  and  I  was  mad  with  the 
desire  of  setting  eyes  on  her  again.  In  the  second 
place,  I  was  determined  to  make  it  plain  that  she 
must  not  attempt  to  come  between  me  and  the 
regiment  again.  It  was  a  delicate  problem  to 
tackle,  I  knew;  but  I  still  hugged  the  delusion  that 
she  was  only  a  child  and  could  be  educated  up  to  a 
wife's  duties.  But  I  saw  a  big  fight  ahead  of  me  — 
a  big  fight!" 

Uncle  Joseph's  voice  dropped,  and  the  light  of 
battle  died  out  of  his  eyes. 

"What  was  the  end  of  the  fight?"  asked  Philip, 
apprehensively.  He  saw  tragedy  on  the  horizon. 

Uncle  Joseph  laughed.  It  was  not  a  pleasant 
sound. 

"I  need  not  have  worried,"  he  said.  "There  was 
no  fight.  When  I  got  to  Simla  I  discovered  that  she 
had  been  engaged  to  another  man  for  nearly  a 
fortnight." 

Philip  shrank  back  into  his  chair,  stunned. 

"She  had  not  even  written  to  tell  me,"  contin- 
ued Uncle  Joseph.  "  She  had  allowed  me  to  travel 


RENOVARE  DOLOREM  75 

half  across  India  to  see  her,  and  then  — !  .  .  .  Peo- 
ple told  me  he  was  n't  a  bad  fellow.  A  bit  of  a  boor, 
but  a  good  sort  on  the  whole.  He  was  heir  to  a  title 
of  some  kind,  I  think.  I  never  saw  him  —  or  her, 
after  the  one  interview.  .  .  .  They  were  married 
about  a  month  later. 

"I  went  back  to  the  regiment.  I  had  that  con- 
solation, I  told  myself.  Nothing  stood  between  me 
and  my  work  now.  But  I  was  wrong  again.  No- 
thing seemed  worth  while  any  more.  Regimental 
routine  wearied  me  to  death,  and  presently  I  under- 
stood what  had  happened.  In  the  old  days  I  had 
loved  the  regiment  because  it  was  my  regiment: 
latterly  I  had  loved  it  because  it  was  'her  regi- 
ment, and  I  wanted  to  make  it  a  credit  to  her.  Now 
that  she  was  gone — cui  bono?  But  I  fought  on— 
I  would  not  give  in.  I  was  mechanical,  but  pretty 
thorough.  I  fulfilled  every  duty  rigidly.  The  only 
difference  was  that,  whereas  the  regiment  had  for- 
merly been  commanded  by  a  Damascus  blade,  it 
was  now  commanded  by  a  broomstick,  and  it  went 
about  its  work  correspondingly. 

"Then,  three  months  later,  came  a  letter  from 
your  father.  He  was  dying,  Phil,  —  dying  of  a 
broken  heart,  if  ever  a  man  did.  His  story  was  the 
same  as  mine,  only  more  shameful.  He  asked  me  to 
take  charge  of  you.  Then  I  saw  light:  my  duty  lay 
plain  ahead  of  me.  I  would  go  home  and  devote 
the  rest  of  my  life  to  protecting  my  nephew  from 
the  monstrous  danger  of  Woman.  I  sent  in  my 
papers,  came  home,  and  took  charge  of  you;  and 
here  we  are!  I  have  spoken." 

Uncle  Joseph  dropped  unconcernedly  back  into 


76  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

his  armchair,  and  relit  the  ashes  of  his  pipe.   But 
his  fingers  were  shaking. 

Philip  sat  still  and  silent  for  a  long  time. 

he  asked:- 

"Was  she  very  pretty,  Uncle  Joseph.'' 

"  She  was  the  most  beautiful  creature  I  have  ever 
seen,"  said  Uncle  Joseph  simply. 

Philip  ventured  on  one  more  question. 

"Is  she  alive  now?" 

Uncle  Joseph  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said.  "I  have  dropped  so 
thoroughly  out  of  the  world  that  the  social  history 
of  the  past  ten  years  is  a  blank  to  me.  I  never  have 
heard  of  her  since  I  left  India.  I  do  not  even  know 
her  husband's  title." 

Uncle  Joseph  turned  to  his  nephew.  A  grim 
smile  played  about  the  ends  of  his  mustache. 

"And  now,  laddie,"  he  enquired,  "have  I  made 
things  any  easier  for  you?" 

Philip  flushed. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  muttered.    But  tie 

knew  only  too  well. 

"I  mean  this,"  said  Uncle  Joseph.  Has  my 
story  made  it  any  easier  for  you  to  relinquish  your 
acquaintance  with  the  small  siren  of  Hampstead 

Heath?"  _,,.,.  ,    ,., 

It  was  the  first  critical  moment  in  Philip  s  life. 
Reason  and  Instinct  -  the  truculent  logic  of  his 
uncle  and  the  gentle,  chivalrous  spirit  of  his  father 
—  fought  for  mastery  within  him.   Instinct  won, 
and  he  replied  doggedly:  - 
"No.  I'm  sorry." 
"So  am  I,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  rising  to  his  feet 


RENOVARE  DOLOREM  77 

again.  "However,  you  must  be  protected  from 
yourself.  Listen !  You  will  drop  your  acquaintance 
with  this  little  girl,  and  refrain  from  making  any 
other  friendships  of  a  similar  nature  so  long  as  you 
remain  in  my  charge.  It  is  an  order.  You  under- 
stand?" 

Philip  bowed  his  head  in  silence.  He  had  been 
brought  up  in  a  soldier's  house,  and  when  Uncle 
Joseph  spoke  in  his  orderly-room  voice  there  was 
nothing  more  to  be  said  on  the  matter. 

That  night,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Philip 
cried  himself  to  sleep.  He  had  pledged  his  knightly 
word  to  keep  tryst  with  a  lady  on  Hampstead 
Heath  the  following  afternoon,  and  now  he  would 
have  to  break  it. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  INCONSISTENCY   OF  UNCLE  JOSEPH 

BUT  no.  Nothing  of  the  kind. 

It  was  a  most  amazing  day  altogether. 

It  was  a  Thursday.  They  paid  the  usual  visit  to 
the  bank,  after  which  Philip  and  his  uncle  parted 
company  at  Swiss  Cottage  Station,  and  Philip 
walked  resolutely  home.  The  Elysian  Fields  were 
closed  to  him.  He  wondered  how  long  Peggy  would 
wait,  and  what  she  would  think  when  he  did  not 
come.  He  hoped  that  in  her  quaint,  old-fashioned 
way  she  would  take  a  leaf  from  her  mother's  book 
and  "make  allowances"  for  him. 

Holly  Lodge  was  deserted,  for  James  Nimmo  had 
washed  up  and  gone  round  the  corner,  in  accord- 
ance with  his  invariable  custom  of  an  afternoon,  in 
order  to  recuperate  exhausted  nature  by  partaking 
of  what  he  termed  "a  wee  hauf."  (Philip_  of  ten 
wondered  what  he  did  with  the  other  half.)  Philip 
let  himself  in  at  the  side  door  with  his  latchkey, 
and,  sitting  down  before  the  library  fire,  endeav- 
oured to  divert  his  thoughts  by  reading  "The 
Idylls  of  the  King."  He  turned  up  "Merlin  and 
Vivien,"  which  he  had  not  previously  studied,  and 
set  to  work  upon  it.  He  had  a  personal  interest  in 
the  name  of  Vivien  now. 

Meanwhile,  two  people  were  converging  upon 
Holly  Lodge. 


UNCLE  JOSEPH'S  INCONSISTENCY    79 

The  first  was  Uncle  Joseph,  returning  from  the 
City  an  hour  and  a  half  before  his  time.  His  busi- 
ness had  been  cut  short  by  the  sudden  illness  of 
one  of  his  almoners,  and  he  found  himself  free  to 
return  home  at  half-past  three.  He  sat  in  a  com- 
paratively empty  District  Railway  carriage  - 
the  human  tide  was  not  due  to  ebb  for  nearly  two 
hours  yet  —  perusing  the  current  number  of  the 
"Searchlight."  It  contained  two  interesting  para- 
graphs. 

The  first  said :  - 

For  some  time  past  readers  of  the  "Searchlight"  have 
been  forwarding  to  me  copies  of  a  weekly  appeal  for  cash 
issued  by  an  enterprising  organisation  calling  itself  "  The 
International  Brotherhood  of  Kind  Young  Hearts."  The 
modus  operand!  of  the  ingenious  gentleman  who  conducts 
this  precious  enterprise  is  not  without  its  merits.  Evidently 
with  the  idea  of  appealing  to  every  possible  shade  of  senti- 
mentality, the  circular  is  furnished  with  a  list  of  no  less 
than  fifteen  charitable  objects,  and  the  dupes  of  the  Brother- 
hood are  requested  to  select  the  case,  or  cases,  which  excite 
their  compassion  most,  and  mark  these  upon  the  list  when 
forwarding  their  donations.  The  objects  for  which  contribu- 
tions are  invited  are  most  artistically  varied,  ranging  as 
they  do  from  the  maintenance  of  "  A  Home  for  Unwanted 
Doggies"  to  the  rehabilitation  of  a  repentant  but  slightly 
indefinite  burglar;  but  I  can  assure  prospective  contributors, 
with  the  utmost  confidence,  that,  however  meticulously  they 
may  earmark  their  pet  cases,  their  money  will  all  find  its 
way  into  one  capacious  pocket.  The  administration  of  this 
exceptionally  ingenious  scheme  of  flat-catching  is  evidently 
in  capable  and  experienced  hands.  Last  week,  anxious  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  the  master-mind,  I  despatched 
one  of  my  trustiest  representatives  to  the  headquarters  of 


80  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

the  Brotherhood,  hoping  that  Big  Brother  —  or  whatever  the 
arch  fiat-catcher  calls  himself  —  might  be  found  at  home. 
The  offices  are  situated  in  Pontifex  Mansions,  Shaftesbury 
Avenue,  and  consist  of  an  undistinguished  suite  of  apart- 
ments with  the  name  of  the  Brotherhood  painted  upon  the 
outer  door,  accompanied  by  a  typewritten  notice  to  the  effect 
that  the  Secretary  has  gone  to  the  country  —  a  piece  of 
information  which  is  not  altogether  surprising.  Here  the 
scent  abruptly  ended,  for  enquiries  elicited  the  news  that  the 
tenancy  of  the  Brotherhood  had  terminated.  Indeed,  a  new 
tenant  was  actually  in  possession  when  my  representative 
called.  We  may,  therefore,  confidently  expect  Big  Brother 
to  break  out  shortly  in  a  fresh  place,  probably  with  the 
name  of  his  organisation  slightly  altered.  As  an  alternative 
to  "Kind  Young  Hearts,"  may  I  respectfully  suggest  "Fine 
Old  Sharks"? 

In  another  part  of  the  paper  Dill  delivered  his 
weekly  comments  upon  the  progress  of  his  Christ- 
mas funds. 

Subscriptions  for  the  Christmas  Dinner  and  Toy  Funds 
are  coming  in  steadily,  and  I  am  beginning  to  entertain 
high  hopes  of  closing  this  year's  account  without  a  deficit. 
I  have  again  to  thank  numerous  old  friends,  whose  names 
will  be  found  in  the  list  below,  for  the  faithfulness  and  regu- 
larity with  which  they  come  to  my  assistance.  This  week's 
list  is  headed  by  an  anonymous  contribution  of  a  hundred 
pounds.  The  giver  is  a  gentleman  whom,  though  his  name 
is  known  to  few,  I  regard  as  one  of  the  most  generous,  and 
perhaps  the  most  practical,  philanthropist  of  my  acquaint- 
ance. I  have  never  known  him  to  subscribe  to  an  undeserv- 
ing cause,  and  I  have  never  known  him  refuse  a  worthy 
appeal.  His  gifts  are  made  upon  the  sole  condition  that  his 
name  is  not  published.  I  am  not  prone  to  gush,  and  I  will 
therefore  refrain  from  commenting  upon  this  rather  un- 


UNCLE  JOSEPH'S  INCONSISTENCY    81 

usual  persistence  in  doing  good  by  stealth.  But  I  believe 
that  deeds  of  this  kind  do  not  go  unrewarded,  and  I  can 
assure  my  anonymous  friend  that  if  he  sets  any  store  by  the 
blessings  of  tired  mothers  and  hungry  children,  they  are  his 
in  abundance. 

Uncle  Joseph  smiled  a  wry  smile,  and  turned  to 
the  financial  article. 

The  second  was  a  lady.  She  rang  the  bell  at 
Holly  Lodge  just  as  Philip  reached  the  last  page  of 
"Merlin  and  Vivien." 

James  Nimmo  was  still  moistening  earth's  clay 
at  the  establishment  round  the  corner,  and  Philip 
answered  the  door. 

Before  him,  standing  on  the  doorstep,  he  beheld 
a  tall,  beautiful,  and  gracious  lady.  She  was 
dressed  in  deep  black,  and  looked  old  —  quite 
thirty -five;  possibly  forty.  She  had  a  rather  sad 
face,  Philip  thought,  but  it  lit  up  wonderfully 
when  she  smiled,  which  she  did  as  soon  as  she 
beheld  the  stolid,  sturdy  little  figure  in  the  door- 
way. 

"Is  this  Holly  Lodge,  little  boy?"  she  asked. 

"Ye — es,"  stammered  Philip.  Evidently  his 
visitor  purposed  crossing  the  threshold,  and  rules 
upon  that  subject  were  inflexible. 

The  Beautiful  Lady  smiled  again. 

"I  think  I  know  who  you  are,"  she  said.  "You 
are  called  Tommy." 

*  *  Yes, ' '  admitted  Philip  apprehensively .  * '  Only 
sometimes,"  he  hastened  to  add. 

"I  expect  you  have  a  grander  name  for  state 
occasions,"  said  the  Beautiful  Lady. 


82  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Philip  might  have  mentioned  that  he  possessed 
several,  but  he  had  the  good  sense  merely  to  nod  his 

head. 

"Are  your  parents  at  home?"  continued  the 

visitor.  „ 

"I  am  afraid  there  is  nobody  at  home  but  me, 
replied  Philip,  nerving  himself  to  shut  the  door. 

"That  is  capital,"  said  the  Beautiful  Lady. 
"It  is  you  whom  I  want  to  talk  to  particularly.  So 
I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  entertain  me  until  your 
father  and  mother  come  home.  Will  you?" 

Unconscious  of  the  length  of  the  visit  to  which 
she  had  committed  herself,  the  lady  walked  into 

the  hall. 

Philip  swiftly  reviewed  the  essential' features  of 
the  situation.  The  most  obvious  and  pressing  was 
the  fact  that  a  female  had  gained  admittance  to 
Holly  Lodge.  The  second  followed  as  a  corollary  — 
she  must  be  ejected  before  Uncle  Joseph  returned. 
That  would  not  be  for  a  couple  of>ours  at  least. 
Surely  he  could  get  rid  of  her  by  that  time.  He  led 
the  intruder  into  the  library  —  there  was  no 
drawing-room  at  Holly  Lodge  —  and  begged  her 
to  be  seated.  Then  he  installed  himself  upon  the 
edge  of  a  chair  on  the  other  side  of  the  fireplace 
and  took  feverish  counsel  within  himself 

"You  must  be  wondering  who  I  am,"  said  the 
Beautiful  Lady  pleasantly.  "I  ought  to  have  intro- 
duced myself  sooner.  My  name  is  Lady  Broad- 
hurst,  and  I  live  in  Hampshire*" 

Philip  remembered  addressing  the  envelope  now. 
He  nodded  politely. 

"I  know,"  he  said.  "Plumbley  Royal." 


UNCLE  JOSEPH'S  INCONSISTENCY    83 

"That  is  right,"  said  Lady  Broadhurst.  "I  have 
been  puzzling  as  to  why  you  should  have  thought 
of  writing  to  me.  Where  did  you  come  across  my 
address,  I  wonder." 

"It  was  in  an  old  Red  Book,"  said  Philip. 

"I  see.  Still,  it  is  strange  that  you  should  have 
selected  me,"  continued  the  Beautiful  Lady  mus- 
ingly. She  seemed  perplexed,  yet  gratified,  evi- 
dently suspecting  the  hand  of  Providence.  Philip 
might  have  explained  that  the  wonder  would  have 
lain  less  in  his  visitor's  selection  than  in  her  omis- 
sion, —  he  had  sent  a  copy  of  Tommy  Smith's  letter 
to  every  widow  in  the  book  whose  name  began  with 
B,  —  but  his  mind  was  working  frantically  behind 
a  solemn  countenance,  and  he  did  not  answer.  He 
was  trying  to  put  himself  in  Uncle  Joseph's  place. 
How  would  he  have  treated  this  intrusion?  How 
would  he  have  parried  questions  about  Tommy 
Smith?  How  would  he  have  substantiated  the 
starving  curate  and  his  fireless  home,  in  the  face  of 
the  solid  comfort  of  Holly  Lodge  and  the  absolute 
invisibility  of  the  curate  and  his  emaciated  pro- 
geny? Would  he  have  dressed  up  James  Nimmo 
as  a  curate?  Would  he  have  sent  out  to  Finchley 
Road  for  a  lady  to  represent  the  curate's  tearful 
consort?  Would  he  have  explained  that  the  curate 
had  just  received  preferment  and  gone  to  live  at 
Berwick-on-Tweed  ?  Possibly;  but  such  feats  of 
imposture  were  beyond  the  powers  of  a  slow-witted, 
inherently  honest  philogynist  of  fourteen. 

Lady  Broadhurst  was  speaking  again,  in  a  low, 
musical  voice,  holding  out  her  hands  to  the  blazing 
fire.  Philip  noticed  that  these  hands  were  long  and 


84  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

thin,  like  Peggy's  and  unlike  the  hands  of  the 
women  whom  he  sometimes  encountered  sitting  in 
omnibuses  or  serving  in  shops.  Her  feet  were  tiny, 
too.  In  the  glow  of  the  fire  her  eyelashes  looked 
long  and  wet. 

"I  was  very  much  touched,"  she  was  saying, 
"by  your  letter.  Your  wanting  a  little  girl  for  a 
sister  came  very  near  home  to  me;  for  I  have  just 
lost  a  little  girl  of  my  own.  She  was  all  I  had, 
Tommy.  She  was  takenfrom  me  three  months  ago. 
...  I  suppose  we  should  take  our  losses  as  they 
come,  without  wincing  or  questioning  the  wisdom 
of  God.  But  I  was  weak  —  and  selfish.  For  a 
long  time  I  refused  to  bow  to  his  will.  I  cried  out, 
and  would  not  be  comforted.  ..." 

The  Beautiful  Lady's  eyes  were  really  glistening 
now.  Presently  a  tear  splashed  on  to  the  long  white 
hand.  Philip  felt  strangely  uncomfortable.  He  had 
been  warned  by  his  uncle  more  than  once  to  be- 
ware, above  all,  of  a  woman's  tears.  "Her  tears  are 
the  biggest  gun  in  her  battery,"  Uncle  Joseph  had 
said.  But  Philip  forgot  to  feel  suspicious.  He  was 
only  intensely  sorry  for  the  lady. 

Presently  she  began  to  speak  again,  not  alto- 
gether to  Philip. 

"But  I  came  to  myself,"  she  said.  "I  suddenly 
learned  that  all  things  work  together  for  good  — 
that  there  is  no  sorrow  which  does  not  bring  its 
own  consolation  with  it.  One  day  I  saw  myself  as  I 
was  —  a  querulous,  self-centered,  self-conscious, 
self-made  martyr.  I  had  forgotten  that  other 
people  had  their  'troubles  too  —  troubles  which  I 
might  do  something  to  smooth  away."  She  looked 


UNCLE  JOSEPH'S  INCONSISTENCY    85 

up.    "Do  you  know  who  taught  me  that  lesson, 
Tommy?'* 

Philip  shook  his  head  apologetically. 

"I'm  afraid  I  don't,"  he  said. 

"It  was  you!" 

"Me?"  said  Philip,  a  little  dazed. 

"Yes  —  you !  It  was  your  letter.  When  I  read  it 
I  learned,  all  of  a  sudden,  where  the  cure  for  sorrow 
lies.  It  lies  in  trying  to  help  others.  So  I  have  come 
to  see  you  and  your  parents,  in  the  hope  that  I 
may  be  allowed  to  be  of  some  small  service  to  you 
all.  I  cannot  give  you  a  little  sister  to  play  with  — " 

The  lady's  voice  broke  suddenly,  and  Philip 
tactfully  arose  and  put  coal  upon  the  fire. 

-  but  I  may  be  able  to  help  you  in  other  ways. 
I  am  fairly  well  off,  and  I  ask  to  be  permitted  to  see 
that  your  father  gets  back  to  health  and  strength 
again.  Do  you  think  he  would  consent?  He  might 
like  to  go  abroad  for  a  little." 

Philip  began  to  feel  horribly  uncomfortable.  He 
had  already  allowed  his  visitor  to  assume  that  she 
was  in  the  dwelling  of  an  indigent  Clerk  in  Holy 
Orders,  and  that  she  was  addressing  Master 
Thomas  Smith.  Moreover,  he  had  sat  mute  while 
she  laid  bare  to  him  the  tenderest  secrets  of  a 
woman's  heart,  and  the  thought  of  what  the  end  of 
the  conversation  must  be  made  him  feel  a  pitiful 
little  cad.  On  the  other  hand,  it  was  plainly  advis- 
able to  establish  some  sort  of  working  explanation, 
however  lame,  of  the  non-appearance  of  the  Smith 
family.  Once  more,  what  would  Uncle  Joseph  have 
done?  He  would  probably  have  explained  to  this 
gracious  being  quite  courteously  but  extremely 


86  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

firmly,  that  she  was  an  incubus  and  a  parasite, 
actuated  by  predatory  instincts,  and  would  have 
cast  her  from  the  house.  But  Philip  felt  utterly 
incapable  of  and  entirely  disinclined  to  such  a 
drastic  course  of  action.  But  plainly,  something 
must  be  done.  His  head  began  to  swim. 

"  Perhaps  your  father  and  mother  would  like  to 
go  away  together  for  a  few  weeks,"  suggested  the 
Beautiful  Lady.  A  glow  of  cheerful  kindness  was 
creeping  into  her  cheeks.  "To  the  seaside,  perhaps, 
or  even  to  the  south  of  France.  They  could  take 
the  baby  with  them,  and  you  might  come  to  me, 
Tommy.  Could  you  accept  me  as  your  mother  for 
a  week  or  two,  do  you  think?"  There  was  a  world 
of  wistfulness  in  her  voice.  "Could  you?" 

Apparently  not,  for  straightway  the  solemn- 
faced  little  boy  before  her  flushed  scarlet. 

"I  —  I 'm  afraid  you  have  been  making  a  mis- 
take," began  Philip  desperately.  "  I  'm  not  Tommy 
Smith  at  all." 

Lady  Broadhurst  looked  puzzled. 

"Not  Tommy  Smith?  But  you  wrote  me  that 
letter,  surely?" 

"Yes,  I  wrote  it,"  admitted  Philip  in  a  low  voice. 

"Then  where  is  the  mistake?  You  are  not  the 
baby,  are  you?" 

"No,  I'm  not  the  baby  either,"  said  Philip 
miserably. 

"But  your  father— " 

"I  haven't  got  any  father  —  or  mother,  I'm 
afraid,"  said  Philip,  feeling  more  guilty  than  ever. 

The  lady  paused,  and  contemplated  him  with 
quickened  interest. 


UNCLE  JOSEPH'S  INCONSISTENCY    87 

"You  poor  little  lad!"  she  said,  very  softly. 

"But  whose  house  is  this?" 

"My  uncle's." 

Lady  Broadhurst's  face  cleared. 

"I  see,"  she  said.  "You  have  no  parents  of  your 
own,  but  live  with  your  uncle  and  aunt.  Naturally 
you  would  regard  them  as  your  father  and  mother, 
and  speak  of  them  as  such.  I  understand  now.  But 
that  shall  make  no  difference.  In  fact  I  like  the 
scrupulous  way  you  tell  me  everything.  If  your 
uncle  is  ill  — " 

"He  is  n't  ill,"  said  Philip  regretfully. 

"Then  he  is  better?  "  said  Lady  Broadhurst  with 
a  cheerful  smile.  "In  that  case  he  will  be  able  to 
travel  at  once." 

Philip  gripped  the  arm  of  his  chair.  The  bad 
time  had  come. 

"My  uncle  is  n't  a  — "  he  began. 

He  was  going  to  say  "curate,"  but  at  that  mo- 
ment, to  his  profound  surprise  and  unspeakable 
relief,  there  fell  upon  his  ears  the  music  of  a  latch- 
key in  a  lock,  followed  by  the  banging  of  the  front 
door.  Uncle  Joseph  had  returned,  an  hour  and  a 
half  before  his  time. 

Well,  whatever  happened  now,  the  responsibility 
had  slipped  from  Philip's  shoulders.  And  in  the 
midst  of  all  the  present  turmoil  of  his  senses  one 
emotion  overtopped  all  the  others  —  a  feeling  of 
intense  curiosity  to  behold  the  arch-expert  in 
misogyny  handling  the  situation. 

It  would  be  a  sensational  scene,  Philip  thought. 
And  he  was  not  disappointed. 

"Hallo,  there,  Philip ! "  Uncle  Joseph's  voice  rang 


88  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

out  from  the  hall.  "Are  you  in?  "  The  library  door 
stood  ajar,  and  his  words  could  be  heard  distinctly. 

"Yes,  Uncle  Joseph!"  called  Philip. 

"That  is  my  uncle,"  he  explained,  turning 
politely  to  the  Beautiful  Lady.  "He  - 

But  the  words  died  on  his  lips.  Lady  Broadhurst 
was  on  her  feet,  deadly  white,  and  shaking.  One 
hand  was  at  her  heart,  the  other  fumbled  at  the 
mantelpiece  for  support. 

Uncle  Joseph's  voice  rang  out  again,  this  time 
from  the  neighbourhood  of  the  hatstand. 

"I'm  back  sooner  than  I  expected.  Skip  about 
and  get  me  some  tea,  you  young  beggar!" 

The  Beautiful  Lady's  white  lips  parted,  and  she 
uttered  a  faint  cry.  But  she  did  not  move. 

Philip  went  out  into  the  hall.  His  uncle  was 
hanging  up  his  greatcoat. 

"Well,  young  man?"  he  observed  cheerfully. 

"There  is  some  one  wanting  to  see  you  in  the 
library,  Uncle  Joseph,"  said  Philip  falteringly. 

"Oh!  Who?" 

"A  — a  lady." 

Uncle  Joseph's  brow  darkened  instantly. 

"A  lady?"  he  said  icily.   "  Who  let  her  in?" 

"I  did.  At  least,  she  came  in." 

"Well,  we  can  appraise  responsibility  later. 
Meanwhile  — " 

Uncle  Joseph,  very  stiff  and  erect,  strode  across 
the  hall  and  into  the  library. 

There  was  a  moment  of  dead  silence,  and  then  a 
great  cry;  then  a  rush  of  feet;  then  silence  again 
—  silence  that  could  be  felt. 


UNCLE  JOSEPH'S  INCONSISTENCY    89 

What  had  happened?  Philip  wondered. 

Then,  at  last,  came  voices. 

"Vivien!  Vivien!  Vivien!  My  little  Vivien, 
after  all  these  years!  Thank  God  for  his  infinite 
goodness  and  mercy!  My  Vivien!  My  little  girl !" 

"Joe!  Joe!  Dear,  dear  Joe!  At  last,  at  last! 
Hold  me  closer,  dear!  I  can't  believe  it  yet!  I'm 
frightened  —  hold  me  closer !  Oh,  my  dear,  my 
dear!" 

Then  the  voices  blended  into  an  indeterminate, 
cooing,  soothing  murmur. 

Philip  looked  into  the  library. 

Upon  the  hearthrug,  with  his  back  to  the  door, 
stood  Uncle  Joseph,  misogynist.  In  his  arms  he 
held  the  Beautiful  Lady,  and  he  was  passionately 
kissing  her  eyes,  her  hair,  her  lips. 

Philip  retired  in  good  order  and  closed  the  door 
softly,  leaving  them  together. 

Once  in  the  hall,  he  snatched  up  his  cap  and  coat 
and  slipped  out  of  the  front  door.  The  afternoon 
light  was  fading. 

There  was  still  a  chance,  he  thought. 

He  broke  into  a  run. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE   HAMPSTEAD   HEATH    CONSPIRACY 

HE  was  right,  but  it  was  touch  and  go.  Peggy 
was  climbing  down  from  her  gate  as  Philip  cantered 
up. 

"Hallo,  Pegs!"  he  said  breathlessly. 

Miss  Falconer  greeted  him  coldly. 

"Hallo!"  she  replied.   "Going  for  a  walk?" 

"What  walk?"  asked  the  bewildered  Philip. 
"  Did  n't  you  expect  to  meet  me?" 

"Certainly  not.  Why  should  I?  I  wasn't  think- 
ing about  you  at  all,"  replied  Eve's  daughter. 

"But  you  promised  to  meet  me  here  at  half -past 
three,"  cried  Philip  in  dismay. 

"And  now  it's  a  quarter  to  five!"  blazed  Peggy, 
abandoning  her  strategical  position,  woman-like, 
in  order  to  score  a  tactical  point. 

Sure  enough,  the  sound  of  a  church  chime  fell 
musically'on  their  ears  through  the  still  evening  air. 

"I'm  awfully  sorry,"  said  Philip. 

"It  doesn't  matter  at  all,"  replied  Peggy,  still 
inflexible.  "Good-night!" 

"Good-night!"  said  Philip  quietly.  He  was  con- 
stitutionally incapable  of  forcing  his  society  where 
it  was  not  wanted.  He  turned  to  go.  "It's  a  pity 
I'm  late,"  he  added  regretfully.  "The  most  excit- 
ing things  have  been  happening,  and  I  wanted  to 
tell  you  about  them." 


HAMPSTEAD  HEATH  CONSPIRACY    91 

The  small  damsel's  hauteur  melted  in  an  instant. 
She  deliberately  resumed  her  perch  upon  the  gate. 

"You  can  come  and  sit  up  here  if  you  like,"  she 
intimated,  holding  out  her  hand. 

Philip  accepted  the  invitation  with  alacrity,  but 
the  touch  of  Peggy's  froggy  paw  brought  a  look  of 
concern  into  his  face. 

"I  say,"  he  said,  "you  are  cold!  Put  on  my 
greatcoat." 

Peggy  declined. 

"You'll  want  it  yourself,"  she  said. 

But  Philip  was  insistent. 

"You  simply  must,"  he  urged.  "You  are  shiv- 
ering all  over.  You  can  give  me  a  corner  of  it  to  sit 
on  if  you  like." 

The  argument  came  to  an  end,  and  presently 
they  were  installed  side  by  side  upon  the  gate,  like 
two  sociable  sparrows.  Peggy,  whose  teeth  were 
chattering,  snuggled  gratefully  into  the  warmtji  of 
the  big  coat,  while  Philip  balanced  himself  on  the 
rail  beside  her,  sitting  on  a  very  liberal  allowance  of 
corner. 

"Are  you  comfortable  now?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy  gratefully.  "I'm  glad  you 
came,"  she  added  with  characteristic  honesty. 

"  Why?  "  enquired  Philip.  He  did  not  know  that 
one  must  never  ask  a  lady  for  her  reasons. 

But  the  little  girl  answered  quite  frankly :  — 

"I  was  getting  frightened." 

And  she  slipped  her  arm  round  Philip's  neck. 

If  Philip  had  been  to  a  boys'  school  he  would 
have  received  this  familiarity  with  open  alarm  or 
resentment.  Being  what  he  was,  nothing  but  a 


92  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

very  gallant  little  gentleman,  he  responded  by 
putting  his  own  arm  in  a  protective  fashion  round 
his  companion's  slim  shoulders. 

"Now  we  are  all  right,"  he  said  comfortably. 

"Tell  me  your  news/'  commanded  Peggy. 

Philip  related  the  whole  amazing  story.  Peggy 
listened  breathlessly,  her  eyes  and  lips  forming 
three  round  O's.  When  the  recital  was  finished,  she 
remarked :  — 

"She  must  have  been  the  lady  Mother  meant 
when  she  said  that  was  the  question  only  one 
woman  could  give  the  answer  to  only  she  never 
would." 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  catching  the  general  sense  of 
this  unusual  passage  of  syntax.  "  It  was  the  same 
name  —  a  funny  name  —  Vivien." 

"How  do  you  know?"  asked  Peggy  curiously. 

"  Uncle  Joseph  told  me  all  about  her,"  said 
Philip.  "'I  forgot,  you  have  n't  heard  that  bit." 

And  at  the  pressing  invitation  of  Miss  Falconer, 
he  recited  the  tale  of  Colonel  Meldrum's  love- 
affair. 

Peggy's  verdict  came  hot  and  emphatic. 

"She  was  a  beast  to  treat  him  like  that." 

"Well,  she  has  come  back  to  him  in  the  end," 
said  broader-minded  Philip. 

"Will  they  get  married,  do  you  think?"  asked 
Peggy,  all  in  a  feminine  flutter. 

Philip  pondered. 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  said  at  last.  "But  they  are 
pretty  old." 

*'If  they  do,"  continued  Peggy,  "what  will 
happen  to  you?" 


HAMPSTEAD  HEATH  CONSPIRACY    93 

Philip  pondered  again.  Life  had  suddenly  turned 
a  corner,  and  new  vistas  were  opening  before  him. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  slowly.  "I  don't  want 
to  go  back  home  at  all.  For  one  thing,  I  don't  see 
how  I  can.  I  have  broken  an  order.  I  told  Uncle 
Joseph  about  meeting  you,  and  he  forbade  me  to 
speak  to  you  again  so  long  as  I  lived  under  his  roof. 
I  should  n't  have  come  this  afternoon  — ' 

"Oh!"  said  Peggy  reproachfully. 

"You  can't  disobey  an  order,"  explained  Philip 
gently.  "But  when  I  saw  Uncle  Joseph  and  the 
lady  —  like"  -  he  coughed  modestly  —  "like  the 
way  they  were,  I  thought  I  might." 

"He  had  broken  his  own  orders,"  observed  Miss 
Falconer  jesuitically. 

"Besides,"  continued  Philip,  "I  am  not  going  to 
live  under  his  roof  any  longer.  I  hate  it  all  so." 

"Hate  what?" 

Philip  recollected  himself. 

"The  work  I  have  to  do,"  he  said.  "I  used  to 
like  it  once;  but  now  —  now  I  don't  think  it  is  very 
good  work.  Anyhow,  I  hate  it.  I  can't  go  back  to 
it.  I  only  went  on  because  —  well,  because  of  Uncle 
Joseph.  He  was  very  good  to  me,  and  I  was  some 
use  to  him." 

"My  dear,  he  won't  want  you  now,"  said  Peggy 
shrewdly. 

Philip  was  conscious  of  a  sudden  thrill. 

"Won't  he?"  he  said.  "I  never  thought  of  that. 
Then  I  need  n't  go  back?" 

"  You  '11  have  to  go  somewhere,  though,"  observed 
his  sage  counsellor.  "Where  are  you  going  to?" 

"  I  should  like  to  go  about  a  bit.   I  have  never 


94  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

even  been  to  school.  I  don't  know  any  other  boys. 
I  want  to  grow  up  and  be  a  man,  and  travel  about 
all  over  the  world,"  said  Philip,  his  eager  spirit 
dashing  off  into  futurity  at  once. 

"I  see,"  said  Peggy,  suddenly  cold  again. 
"Yes,"  continued  Philip.   He  was  fairly  soaring 
now.  "Have  you  read  'The  Idylls  of  the  King'?" 
Peggy  shook  her  head  blankly. 
"No,"  she  said.  "Is  it  a  story?" 
"Yes.   It's  all  about  a  Round  Table,  and  some 
knights  who  met  there.  They  used  to  ride  out  and 
do  the  most  splendid  things." 

"What  sort?"  asked  Peggy  absently. 
The  sudden  revelation  of  the  eternal  masculine 
in  Philip,  exemplified  by  his  desire  to  roam,  was  jan- 
gling the  chords  of  the  eternal  feminine  in  herself. 
'  "Dangerous  things,"  explained  Philip  enthusi- 
astically. 

"What  for?" 

"Well,  they  very  often  did  them  just  out  of 
bravery;  but  the  very  best  things  a  knight  did  were 
always  in  honour  of  his  Lady." 

"Oh!  Then  you  would  require  a  Lady?"  said 
Peggy,  growing  distinctly  more  attentive. 

"Rather!"  said  Philip.  "To  serve,  you  know. 
Whenever  a  knight  performed  any  great  deed  he 
would  n't  care  anything  about  himself.  He  would 
just  feel  he  had  done  it  for  his  Lady,  and  she  would 
reward  him." 
"How?" 

Philip's  brow  wrinkled.  He  had  not  considered 
the  point  before.  With  him,  service  always  came 
far  above  reward. 


HAMPSTEAD  HEATH  CONSPIRACY    95 

"Well,"  he  said  at  last,  "she  would  praise  him, 
and  go  on  being  his  Lady,  and  nobody  else's." 

At  this  point  in  the  conversation  Philip  was  con- 
scious of  a  sudden  constriction  round  his  neck. 
Peggy  appeared  to  be  about  to  make  some  remark; 
but  she  relaxed  her  arm  again,  and  enquired 
calmly :  — 

"When  are  you  going  to  begin?" 

"I  shall  have  to  grow  up  a  bit  first,  I  suppose," 
said  the  prospective  Galahad  regretfully.  "But  I 
don't  want  to  go  back  to  Uncle  Joseph  till  then." 

"Why  should  you?"  urged  the  small  temptress 
at  his  side.  "He  won't  require  you  now  that  his 
Lady  has  come  back  to  him.  You  are  free  to  be 
anything  you  like." 

"The  difficult  part,"  remarked  the  practical 
Philip,  "will  be  to  make  a  start  at  being  anything. 
To  begin  with,  I  don't  know  where  to  go." 

"Come  to  us,"  said  Miss  Falconer  promptly. 

Swiftly  she  sketched  out  her  plans  to  her  mes- 
merised companion. 

"I  will  take  you  up  to  the  house  now,"  she  said. 
"I  will  put  you  into  the  studio:  Dad  is  never  there 
after  dark.  You  can  stay  all  night  — 

She  paused,  and  turned  to  Philip  enquiringly. 

"You  won't  be  frightened?"  she  enquired,  half- 
apologetically. 

"Knights  are  never  frightened,"  replied  Philip 
axiomatically. 

"You  can  sleep  on  the  model-throne,"  continued 
Peggy,  taking  all  obstacles  in  her  stride.  "I  will 
bring  you  in  some  supper,  and  no  one  will  know. 
Then,  when  Mother  comes  to  see  me  in  bed,  I  shall 


96  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

tell  her  about  you,  and  we  will  settle  what  to  do 
next.   But  you  must  n't  —  not  on  any  account  - 
let  Dad  see  you,  or  he  would  have  one  of  his  tem- 
pers. Come  on!" 

It  was  almost  dark  by  this  time,  and  Feggy  s 
voice  had  sunk  to  an  excited  and  ghostly  whisper. 
She  dropped  off  the  gate,  dislodging  her  companion 
—  who  it  will  be  remembered  had  been  accommo- 
dated with  a  seat  upon  a  portion  of  her  apparel  - 
with  some  suddenness. 

"We  are  rather  late,"  she  said.  L  am  not 
allowed  to  stay  out  after  dark.  Let's  run!  Give  me 

your  hand." 

They  trotted  through  the  gloaming,  and  pres- 
ently came  to  a  house  standing  by  itself,  well  back 
from  the  road.  Breathing  heavily,  the  two  small 
conspirators  stole  round  to  the  north  side  of  the 
house,  and  presently  came  to  a  halt  close  under  the 
wall.  Above  their  heads,  eight  feet  up,  Philip  could 
see  a  small  window.  It  stood  open. 

"Take  me  on  your  back,"  said  Peggy,  btoop 
down." 

Philip  obeyed. 

"Keep  quite  steady!" 

By  dint  of  much  struggling,  the  agile  Miss  lal- 
coner  succeeded  in  working  her  small  but  sharp 
knees  on  to  Philip's  shoulders. 

"Now!"  she  whispered  at  length.  Stand  up 
slowly,  with  your  face  to  the  wall!" 

Philip  straightened  his  back  laboriously,  his  fair 
burden  maintaining  her  balance  by  clinging  to  his 

hair  with  both  hands. 

"This  is  a  splendid  adventure!'   she  whispered. 


HAMPSTEAD  HEATH  CONSPIRACY    97 

"Rather!"  gasped  Philip,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes. 

"Now  I  am  going  to  stand  on  your  shoulders," 
explained  Peggy.  "Bend  forward  a  little,  with 
your  hands  against  the  wall.  Keep  your  head  well 
down,  or  I  may  tread  on  it." 

Two  minutes  after,  the  soles  of  the  young  lady's 
shoes  removed  themselves  from  Philip's  shoulder- 
blades  with  a  convulsive  spring,  and  followed  their 
owner  in  a  harlequin  dive  through  the  open  win- 
dow. There  was  a  dull  thud  on  the  floor  inside, 
followed  by  a  brief  silence.  Then  there  was  the 
sound  of  some  one  moving  in  the  dark,  and  pres- 
ently a  French  window  further  along  the  wall 
swung  open  with  a  click,  and  Peggy,  touzled  but 
triumphant,  dragged  her  guest  into  the  house. 

The  window  closed,  and  a  flood  of  electric  light 
swept  away  the  darkness.  Philip  looked  round 
curiously.  He  had  never  been  in  a  studio  before. 
The  side  of  the  room  at  which  they  had  entered 
was  built  out  in  the  form  of  a  penthouse,  and  was 
roofed  with  glass.  In  the  middle  of  the  floor  stood  a 
small  platform,  covered  with  a  rug.  On  the  plat- 
form stood  a  sofa,  and  on  the  sofa  reclined  an  eerie 
figure,  like  a  gigantic  Dutch  doll.  Half -finished 
canvasses  —  prospective  wolf-scarers,  no  doubt  - 
leaned  against  the  walls.  In  a  corner  lay  an  untidy 
heap  of  robes  and  draperies. 

Upon  an  easel  close  by  the  throne  stood  an 
almost  completed  picture.  It  represented  an  infant 
of  improbably  angelic  aspect  asleep  in  a  cot,  in 
company  with  two  golliwogs,  a  mechanical  mon- 
key, and  a  teddy  bear. 


98  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"That,"  remarked  Peggy  professionally,  "is  a 
wolf-scarer.  It's  called  'Strange  Bedfellows.'  It's 
very  pretty.  It 's  nearly  finished.  This  thing  here  is 
a  model-throne.  You  can  sleep  on  it  to-night. 
Nobody  will  disturb  you.  Dad  never  comes  here 
until  after  ten  in  the  morning,  and  none  of  the 
maids  are  allowed  in  the  studio  at  all.  You  will  be 
quite  warm.  I'll  get  you  some  of  these  robes  and 
things  out  of  the  corner.  Ooh!" 

Philip,  fascinated  by  his  surroundings,  had  not 
yet  had  time  to  notice  his  hostess.  Now  he  turned 
quickly.  Miss  Falconer  was  in  a  somewhat  di- 
shevelled condition.  Her  red  tam-o'-shanter  was 
white  with  plaster.  Her  frock  was  stained  all  down 
the  front,  and  one  of  her  stockings  had  been  cut 
open  right  across  the  knee,  displaying  a  crimson 
bruise  which  threatened  to  deepen  into  purple. 

"You  have  hurt  yourself!"  cried  Philip  in  great 
concern. 

"I  got  a  bit  of  a  bump  dropping  through  that 
window,"  admitted  Peggy,  indicating  the  aperture 
through  which  she  had  gained  admission  to  her 
home.  "But  it  does  n't  hurt  much,  except  when 
you  bend  your  knee  suddenly.  Now  I  must  go  and 
have  tea  in  the  schoolroom.  When  I  see  Mother  I 
shall  tell  her  about  you,  and  she  will  know  what  to 
do.  If  you  hear  anybody  coming,  turn  out  the  light 
and  creep  under  the  model-throne.  It  is  hollow 
underneath.  I  have  often  been  there,  playing  at 
robbers  with  myself." 

Philip  turned  up  the  overhanging  drapery,  and 
dubiously  surveyed  the  grimy  recesses  of  his  last 
refuge. 


HAMPSTEAD  HEATH  CONSPIRACY    99 

"Supposing  I  get  underneath,"  he  enquired, 
"and  it  turns  out  to  be  only  you?" 

Peggy  considered.  Then  her  face  dimpled.  The 
game  of  conspirators  was,  indeed,  exhilarating. 

"I  shall  knock  seven  times  on  the  floor  with  a 
stick,"  she  announced,  "before  I  come  down  the 
passage.  Then  you  will  know." 

"That  will  be  splendid,"  agreed  Philip.  "You 
are  awfully  clever,"  he  added  admiringly,  as  the 
directress  of  his  fortunes  turned  to  go. 

Peggy  swung  round  again,  with  her  fingers  on  the 
doorhandle.  A  sudden  rush  of  colour  swept  across 
her  face  and  neck,  and  for  a  moment  her  wide 
brown  eyes  met  Philip's.  Then  the  lashes  dropped 
again. 

" I  say,  Phil,"  she  said  shyly,  "I'll  be  your  Lady 
if  you  like." 

Next  moment  she  was  gone,  and  our  knight, 
feeling  that  he  had  been  somewhat  remiss  in  not 
having  made  the  suggestion  himself,  was  left  lis- 
tening to  the  sound  of  his  Lady's  feet  limping  down 
the  passage. 


CHAPTER   IX 

GENUS   IRRITABILE 

MONTAGU  FALCONER  had  had  a  busy  day.  At 
breakfast  he  had  sent  for,  and  sworn  at,  the  cook. 
The  cook,  who  was  a  lady  of  spirit  and  accustomed 
to  being  sent  for,  had  reserved  her  defence  until 
the  storm  had  spent  itself,  and  then  pointed  out 
with  admirable  composure  and  undeniable  truth 
that  an  omelette  which  is  uneatable  at  a  quarter  to 
ten  may  have  been — and  in  fact  was — in  perfect 
condition  when  placed  upon  the  table  at  nine.  She 
then  withdrew  in  good  order,  parrying  the  intima- 
tion that  she  might  take  a  month's  notice,  which 
hurtled  through  the  door  after  her,  with  the  re- 
joinder that  she  recognised  no  orders  save  those  of 
her  mistress. 

When  she  had  gone,  Mrs.  Falconer  said 
calmly:  — 

"  I  would  n't  give  cook  notice  quite  so  often,  old 
man,  if  I  were  you.  Some  day  she  will  take  it,  you 
know,  and  then  where  will  you  be?  Don't  forget 
her  marrow-bones:  they  are  the  best  in  London." 

In  reply  Montagu  Falconer  picked  up  the  ome- 
lette between  his  finger  and  thumb  and  threw  it 
into  the  fire,  where  it  created  an  unpleasant  smell. 

After  this  promising  beginning,  he  proceeded  to 
his  day's  work.  As  he  entered  the  studio  he 
noticed  a  middle-aged  woman  pass  the  window, 


GENUS  IRRITABILE  101 

supporting  one  end  of  a  basket,  at  the  other  end  of 
which  staggered  a  tumble-haired  little  girl.  It  was 
the  laundress,  with  her  daughter. 

The  daughter  was  not  too  well  dressed.  She  wore 
a  short  and  rather  ragged  frock,  and  had  holes  in 
her  stockings.  But  she  was  a  picturesque  little 
figure,  with  a  pretty  face  and  wild  coppery  hair. 

Mr.  Falconer  had  intended  to  devote  a  sul- 
phurous morning  to  the  completion  of  "Strange 
Bedfellows."  This  prospect  possibly  accounted  for 
the  omelette  incident,  for  Peggy's  papa  possessed 
what  is  indulgently  called  a  temperament,  which, 
being  interpreted,  means  a  dislike  (from  which 
many  of  us  less  highly-strung  people  also  suffer) 
of  performing  uncongenial  duties.  But  at  the 
sight  of  the  little  girl,  his  professional  instincts  de- 
spatched him  hot-foot  through  the  French  win- 
dow into  the  garden.  Here,  with  much  shouting 
and  redundancy  of  words,  he  secured  from  the 
dazed  but  gratified  parent,  in  return  for  an  unnec- 
essarily generous  fee,  the  services  of  her  daughter 
as  model  for  a  head-study. 

"I'll  run  'er  home  and  wash  'er  face,  sir,"  she 
announced,  "and  you  shall  'ave  'er  back  in  'alf  an 
hour." 

She  was  better  than  her  word.  The  little  girl 
returned  in  twenty-five  minutes.  Not  only  was  her 
face  washed,  but  she  wore  her  Sunday  frock,  to- 
gether with  a  pair  of  sixteen-button  boots  of  patent 
leather,  —  the  patent  upon  which  had  palpably 
expired,  —  once  evidently  the  property  of  a  lady  of 
fashion,  and  a  tragic  travesty  of  a  toque.  Under 
her  arm  she  bore  her  mother's  umbrella;  and  her 


102  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

wild  mane  was  screwed  into  two  tight  pigtails, 
fastened  at  the  tips  with  bows  of  magenta  ribbon. 

Montagu  Falconer,  blaring  like  a  bull,  cast  her 
forth,  weeping,  to  be  intercepted  and  comforted 
with  clandestine  cake  by  Mrs.  Falconer  at  the  back 
door. 

After  this  followed  a  savage  onslaught,  some 
two  hours  in  duration,  on  "Strange  Bedfellows," 
which  infuriated  its  creator  so  much  that  at  lunch- 
eon his  wife  was  afforded  a  more  than  usually  num- 
erous series  of  opportunities  for  "making  allow- 
ances.'* 

In  the  afternoon  there  was  a  slight  lull,  for  Mon- 
tagu betook  himself  and  his  temperament  for  an 
airing  on  the  Heath.  He  returned  sheer  drunk  with 
the  glories  of  an  autumn  sunset,  to  make  a  heavy 
and  unwholesome  tea.  But  in  an  evil  moment  he 
asked  for  his  daughter,  and  it  was  discovered  that 
she  was  not  in  the  house.  A  hurricane  sprang  up  in 
a  moment,  increasing  to  a  typhoon  when  Miss 
Peggy  arrived  with  a  stained  frock  and  a  bruised 
knee. 

She  was  despatched  incontinently  to  bed,  where 
cook  and  the  housemaid  and  (later)  her  mother 
combined  to  tend  her  wounds  and  supply  her  with 
abundant,  if  surreptitious,  refreshment. 

After  dinner  Montagu  Falconer  found  himself 
in  possession  of  a  fresh  grievance.  His  wife  had 
deserted  him.  As  a  rule  she  sat  placidly  upon  the 
other  side  of  the  fire  and  listened  while  her  husband 
derided  the  British  Philistine  and  consigned  the 
Members  of  the  Royal  Academy,  seriatim,  fo,,perdi- 
tion.  But  to-night  even  these  simple  pleasures 


GENUS  IRRITABILE  103 

were  denied  him.  His  wife's  chair  stood  empty. 
Probably  she  was  upstairs,  coddling  that  insubor- 
dinate brat,  Peggy.  Her  own  husband,  of  course, 
might  shift  for  himself;  he  had  no  claim  upon  her 
consideration.  He  was  at  liberty  to  slave  day  and 
night  to  keep  a  roof  over  their  heads;  but  when, 
shattered  by  the  magnitude  of  his  exertions,  he 
returned  to  his  own  fireside  for  a  few  words  of 
wifely  recognition  and  encouragement,  what  did  he 
find?  An  empty  chair! 

He  laughed  bitterly. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said,  "how  high  I  might  not  have 
climbed  if  I  had  been  properly  understood!" 

He  was  so  engrossed  with  this  gratifying  specula- 
tion that  he  failed  to  hear  seven  portentous 
thumps  upon  the  floor  of  the  passage  leading  to  the 
studio. 

After  another  half -hour  his  sense  of  grievance 
took  a  still  more  pathetic  turn.  He  was  now  the 
willing,  patient,  overdriven  breadwinner,  strug- 
gling to  keep  an  impoverished  household  together. 
His  part  was  to  work,  work,  work,  with  none  to  say 
him  nay.  Happy  thought !  He  would  go  and  work 
now.  Possibly  if  his  wife  found  him,  half -blind  with 
fatigue,  toiling  at  his  easel  at  midnight,  she  might 
feel  sorry.  Anyhow,  he  would  try  it. 

Feeling  comparatively  cheerful,  and  ignoring  the 
fact  that  one  does  not  usually  paint  by  artificial 
light,  the  downtrodden  breadwinner  proceeded  to 
the  studio.  He  stepped  softly,  for  he  did  not  want 
his  wife  to  hear  him  at  present.  She  was  to  dis- 
cover him  later,  when  his  stage  effects  had  been 
properly  worked  up. 


104  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

To  his  surprise  he  noted  a  light  under  the  studio 
door.  Who  could  it  be?  The  servants  were  strictly 
forbidden  to  enter  the  sacred  apartment  at  all.  It 
seemed  too  much  to  hope  that  it  might  be  cook. 
His  eyes  gleamed,  and  he  turned  the  handle  softly 

Philip  was  sitting  upon  the  sofa  on  the  model- 
throne,  partaking  of  chicken-and-ham  and  cocoa 
with  an  air  of  romantic  enjoyment.  He  had  now 
been  an  inmate  of  the  studio  for  four  hours,  but 
Peggy  had  not  returned  to  him.  Instead,  a  kindly, 
cheerful  lady,  with  steady  eyes  and  a  humorous 
mouth,  bearing  sustenance  upon  a  tray,  had  paid 
him  a  lengthy  visit.  To  her  Philip  had  recounted 
the  full  tale  of  Uncle  Joseph,  not  omitting  the 
Beautiful  Lady,  but  suppressing  the  nature  of 
Uncle  Joseph's  profession  and  his  own  part  therein. 
This  was  unfortunate,  for  had  he  not  done  so  Mrs. 
Falconer  would  have  pointed  out  to  him  what  he 
had  so  far  failed  to  realise  —  namely,  that  as  the 
Beautiful  Lady  had  walked  in  at  the  door,  Uncle 
Joseph's  old  life  had  flown  out  of  the  window,  and 
that  Aubrey  Buck,  Tommy  Smith,  et  hoc  genus 
omne,  were  no  more. 

"I  will  think  things  over  in  the  night  watches," 
said  Mrs.  Falconer,  "and  in  the  morning  I  will 
come  and  tell  you  what  to  do.  Now,  you  queer 
little  mortal,  eat  up  your  supper  and  go  to  sleep. 
As  you  have  no  mother,  do  you  think  I  might  give 
you  one  kiss?" 

That  was  half  an  hour  ago. 

Philip  was  conscious  of  a  slight  draught  upon  the 
back  of  his  neck,  which  was  turned  towards  the 
door.  Hardly  had  he  realised  this  when  he  was 


GENUS  IRRITABILE  105 

aware  of  an  inarticulate  roar;  and  into  his  field  of 
vision  there  bounded  a  gentleman  with  a  golden 
beard  and  a  fiery  eye,  wearing  a  black  velvet  din- 
ner-jacket. This  was  doubtless  Pegs's  father,  and 
from  external  evidence  he  was  suffering  from  one  of 
his  "tempers." 

"What  the  Blazing  Henry  are  you  doing  here?" 
bawled  the  gentleman. 

Philip  replied  politely  that  he  was  having  supper. 

"Supper?"  yelled  Montagu  Falconer.  "How 
dare  you  have  supper  in  my  studio?  How  dare 
you  bring  your  filthy  food  in  here?  Tell  me  that!" 
His  eye  fell  upon  the  tray,  suggesting  a  fresh  out- 
rage. "Where  did  that  supper  come  from?"  he 
demanded.  "Where  from,  you  mooncalf?" 

"It  came  along  that  passage,"  replied  the  moon- 
calf, taking  a  drink  of  cocoa. 

Peggy's  papa  waved  his  arms  and  raved. 

"Curse  you!"  he  shouted.  "Don't  drink  cocoa 
in  my  presence !  It  is  a  beastly  habit  and  a  beastly 
beverage.  It's  my  cocoa,  too!" 

"It  was  getting  cold,"  explained  Philip,  in 
extenuation. 

"And  don't  answer  back!"  bellowed  the  master 
of  the  house.  "Don't  answer  back,  or  I'll  brain 
you  —  like  —  like  this!" 

He  snatched  a  mediaeval  mace  from  off  the  wall, 
and,  to  Philip's  intense  gratification,  proceeded  to 
pound  an  Etruscan  vase  into  smithereens. 

"Who  are  you?"  he  continued.  "Who  are  you, 
to  go  filibustering  all  over  my  house?  Who  are  you, 
to  insinuate  your  disgusting  presence  into  my 
kitchen  and  forage  among  my  household  stores?" 


106  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Philip,  still  keeping  a  hopeful  eye  on  the  mediae- 
val mace,  considered. 

"I'm  a  boy,"  he  said  cautiously. 

This  eminently  reasonable  explanation  only 
exasperated  Mr.  Falconer  still  further. 

"No,  you  are  not!"  he  bawled.  "You  are  a 
criminal !  Do  you  know  I  have  a  wife  and  daughter 
—  let  alone  a  staff  of  young  and  innocent  servants? 
Supposing  one  of  them  had  seen  you?  You  might 
have  frightened  them  all  out  of  their  wits  —  you 
toad!" 

Mr.  Falconer  stamped  up  and  down  the  room, 
plainly  meditating  further  acts  of  violence.  Philip, 
realising  that  his  host  had  not  yet  been  taken  into 
the  confidence  of  his  wife  and  daughter  regarding 
the  present  situation,  decided  to  be  cautious. 

Presently  the  fermenting  Montagu  came  to  a 
standstill. 

"Why  did  you  come  here  at  all?"  he  demanded. 

"I  wanted  somewhere  to  sleep,"  replied  Philip. 

Montagu  upliftefl  clenched  hands  to  heaven. 

"Unutterable  dolt!"  he  roared.  "Do  you  imag- 
ine you  are  in  a  common  lodging-house?" 

"Oh,  no,  sir,"  Philip  assured  him.  "I  like  your 
pictures  awfully,"  he  added,  with  a  friendly  smile. 

This  time  Montagu  Falconer  first  gaped  at  him, 
and  then  enquired :  - 

"Are  you  a  cretin  ?" 

Philip,  who  did  not  know  what  a  cr&in  was, 
shook  his  head  dubiously,  and  said  he  was  not  sure. 
Mr.  Falconer,  after  assuring  him  that  there  was  no 
doubt  on  the  matter  whatever,  continued  his  cross- 
examination. 


GENUS  IRRITABILE  107 

"Where  the  devil  have  you  come  from?  I  sup- 
pose you  know  that  I " 

"I  came  from  Hampstead,"  replied  Philip. 

"Do  you  live  in  that  beastly  spot?" 

"Yes." 

"What  for?" 

"You  have  to  live  somewhere,"  the  cretin 
pointed  out  gently. 

"Then  why  not  go  on  living  there,  you  unspeak- 
able Yahoo?  Why  leave  your  antimacassars,  and 
china  dogs,  and  wool  mats,  and  wax  fruit,  and  — 
and  harmoniums,  and  come  bursting  into  a  civilised 
household  —  eh?  " 

"  I  have  run  away  from  home,  "said  Philip  simply. 

Mr.  Falconer  uttered  a  yell  of  triumph. 

"A-a-ah!  Now  we  are  getting  at  the  facts.  What 
Is  your  address?" 

Philip  told  him. 

Mr.  Falconer  assumed  an  air  of  ferocious  satis- 
faction. 

"Admirable ! "  he  cried ;  "  most  inexpressibly  satis- 
factory! You  are  outwitted!  I  have  over-reached 
you  —  criminal !  To-night,  since  you  desire  it, 
you  shall  enjoy  my  hospitality;  but  to-morrow 
morning,  on  the  stroke  of  nine,  an  officer  of  the 
law  —  a  policeman  —  shall  wait  upon  you  and 
conduct  you  back  to  the  slum  from  which  you 
came.  Meanwhile,  wretched  offal,  sleep!  Sleep 
all  over  the  studio  if  you  like,  and  be  damned  to 
you!  To-morrow  —  adleones!  Good-night!" 

And  without  another  word  this  excellent  but  ill- 
balanced  householder  shot  out  of  the  studio  into 
the  passage,  locking  the  door  behind  him. 


108  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Philip  finished  the  last  piece  of  ham  and  the  last 
mouthful  of  cocoa,  turned  out  the  electric  light, 
rolled  himself  up  in  a  Greek  robe  of  saffron  serge, 
and  lay  down  upon  the  sofa.  He  was  concerned  in 
his  mind  about  several  things.  In  the  first  place, 
he  had  been  discovered,  and  that  might  mean 
trouble  both  for  Peggy  and  her  mother.  In  the 
second  the  door  was  locked,  which  meant  that  he 
was  a  prisoner.  In  the  third,  he  was  to  be  sent  back 
to  Uncle  Joseph  at  nine  o'clock  next  morning, 
which  would  be  an  ignominious  ending  to  his  first 
great  adventure.  He  pondered. 

In  due  course,  just  before  he  fell  asleep,  his 
obvious  and  proper  course  of  action  occurred  to 
him.  It  was  the  only  way,  he  decided,  and  more- 
over promised  further  adventure.  He  would  have 
liked  to  be  able  to  say  good-bye  to  Peggy, 
but  ... 

His  eyes  closed,  and  he  slipped  into  the  dream- 
less, motionless  sleep  of  tired  childhood,  the  lay 
figure  and  the  other  Strange  Bedfellows  keeping 
watch  and  ward  by  his  pillow. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  ECCENTRIC  GENTLEMAN 

IT  was  a  lovely  morning.  Philip,  tramping  vigor- 
ously along  a  Hertfordshire  highway,  felt  that  if  all 
his  adventures  were  to  be  conducted  under  such  a 
kindly  sun  as  this  he  would  have  little  to  complain 
of.  But  at  present  his  most  pressing  desire  was  to 
get  as  far  away  from  the  residence  of  Mr.  Montagu 
Falconer  as  possible. 

He  had  quitted  that  restful  establishment  some 
three  hours  previously,  escaping  from  durance  by 
the  simple  expedient  of  opening  the  French  window 
and  walking  out  on  to  the  lawn.  He  had  caught  an 
early  morning  train  into  the  country;  and  having 
travelled  as  far  as  one-and-ninepence  would  carry 
him,  had  also  covered  a  considerable  distance  upon 
two  sturdy  legs.  But  he  was  uneasily  conscious  of 
the  avenging  power  of  the  Law,  which,  goaded  into 
activity  by  his  late  host,  —  Heaven  only  knew  on 
what  charges,  —  might  be  interesting  itself  on  his 
behalf  over  all  the  countryside. 

Still,  he  felt  that  he  had  no  alternative.  If  he 
had  accepted  Mr.  Falconer's  pressing  invitation  to 
remain  and  be  arrested  at  nine  o'clock  that  morn- 
ing, a  still  more  involved  situation  would  have 
arisen.  For  one  thing  Pegs  and  Mrs.  Falconer 
would  have  been  dragged  into  the  fray,  which 
would  have  been  a  most  unnecessary  complication; 


110  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

for  apparently  their  choleric  but  obtuse  protector 
had  not  scented  their  presence  in  the  plot  at  all. 
They  would  certainly  have  confessed  complicity 
and  taken  Philip's  side;  and  this  would  have  led  to 
a  domestic  upheaval  of  a  most  monumental  charac- 
ter. So  Philip  had  cut  the  Gordian  knot  by  running 
away. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock.  He  had  breakfasted  off 
the  very  inconsiderable  remains  of  his  supper,  and 
was  now  acutely  conscious  of  the  existence  of  an 
excellent  digestion  clamouring  for  employment. 
He  tramped  resolutely  along  the  wide  country  road, 
fingering  the  sum  of  elevenpence  which  remained 
in  his  right-hand  trouser  pocket,  and  wishing  he 
could  come  to  a  shop. 

He  also  speculated  as  to  his  future.  He  was  a 
clear-headed  little  boy,  and  though  he  had  led  a 
secluded  life,  he  had  spent  it  almost  entirely  with 
grown-up  people,  and  was  accustomed  to  mar- 
shalling facts  and  weighing  probabilities.  He  ran 
over  the  list  of  his  accomplishments  and  limita- 
tions. 

He  had  no  Latin  or  Greek,  but  was  a  good  ste- 
nographer and  typewriter.  He  could  keep  accounts 
and  file  correspondence  with  method  and  neatness. 
He  was  a  promising  mathematician,  with  a  useful 
but  unsystematic  acquaintance  with  mechanics 
and  physics.  He  had  read  and  re-read  some 
twenty  of  Shakespeare's  plays.  He  knew  long 
passages  of  Milton  and  Tennyson  by  heart,  and 
was  well  up  in  the  history  of  ancient  chivalry.  His 
favourite  book  was  Sir  Thomas  Malory's  "Morte 
d' Arthur";  next  in  order  ranked  a  string  of  well- 


THE  ECCENTRIC  GENTLEMAN    111 

thumbed  science  manuals.  It  may  be  added  that 
he  had  never  read  a  novel  in  his  life.  The  founda- 
tion-stone of  nine  novels  out  of  ten  is  a  woman,  and 
the  coping-stone  thereof  is  love  made  perfect;  so 
naturally  such  works  had  found  no  place  upon 
Uncle  Joseph's  shelves. 

He  was  fairly  expert  with  singlestick  and  rapier, 
and  could  play  piquet  and  double-dummy  bridge 
with  more  than  average  skill.  But  he  knew  nothing 
of  cricket  and  football;  and  the  ordinary  joys  of  the 
schoolboy's  holidays  —  pantomimes,  parties,  and 
the  like  —  were  a  sealed  book  to  him. 

His  labours  on  behalf  of  the  Kind  Young  Hearts 
and  Thomas  Smith  had  introduced  him  to  a  large 
and  varied,  if  unusual,  circle  of  acquaintance,  and 
he  possessed  a  knowledge  of  human  nature  and  the 
world  in  general  that  a  seasoned  man  about  town 
might  have  envied. 

For  some  time  back  his  thoughts  had  been  occu- 
pied with  the  contemplation  of  a  suitable  career. 
The  profession  of  Knight  Errantry  having  appar- 
ently fallen  into  desuetude,  he  had  been  compelled 
to  resign  himself  to  the  prospect  of  a  more  hum- 
drum occupation.  With  the  true  instinct  for  the 
surviving  possibilities  of  romance,  he  had  decided 
to  become  an  engineer.  Like  all  boys  of  the  present 
age  he  was  consumed  with  the  desire  to  understand, 
direct,  and  control  machinery  —  especially  the 
machinery  of  the  automobile.  The  numerous  cars 
which  whizzed  up  and  down  the  Finchley  Road 
were  an  abiding  joy  to  him.  He  could  tell  the  make 
of  any  of  them  —  just  as  a  woman  can  tell  the 
make  of  another  woman  —  by  the  cut  of  its  bonnet. 


112  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Number  plates  attracted  him  especially,  for  they 
stimulated  his  imagination.  When  a  mud-splashed 
car  displaying  the  letters  "S.  B."  stole  silently  past 
him  in  the  gathering  darkness,  he  realised  with  a 
thrill  the  bigness  of  the  world;  for  this  weary  giant, 
now  slipping  into  the  roaring  heart  of  London,  had 
come  all  the  way  from  the  fastnesses  of  Argyllshire. 
He  paid  a  penny  a  week  for  a  small  but  highly 
technical  journal  which  dealt  with  the  latest  mode 
in  such  things  as  sleeve-valves  and  detachable 
rims.  He  even  executed  designs  of  his  own,  invent- 
ing tyres  which  never  punctured  and  carburettors 
that  never  choked.  So  now,  with  the  choice  of  a 
career  suddenly  thrust  upon  him,  he  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  making  up  his  mind.  It  had  been  made  up 
for  some  time.  At  this  very  moment  he  was  on  his 
way  to  Coventry,  whence  he  knew  that  vast  num- 
bers of  motor-cars  emanated.  What  he  was  going 
to  do  when  he  got  there  he  had  not  definitely  set- 
tled. He  felt  that  he  already  possessed  certain  sale- 
able merchandise  in  the  form  of  clerical  skill:  this 
he  proposed  to  barter  for  technical  instruction.  He 
would  arrange  details  when  he  reached  Coventry. 
Philip  was  essentially  one  of  those  people  who 
decline  to  think  of  the  Vistula  until  they  have 
crossed  the  Rhine. 

Presently  he  came  to  an  old,  lofty,  and  warmly 
tinted  brick  wall,  skirting  the  road  for  nearly  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  on  his  right,  and  evidently  shel- 
tering some  venerable  house  and  garden.  As  he 
approached,  Philip  observed  a  large  notice-board, 
jutting  out  for  all  to  see. 


THE  ECCENTRIC   GENTLEMAN    113 


MOTORISTS 
Please  drive  slowly  along 
this   wall.      It  contains 
two  hidden  gates. 


A  quarter  of  a  mile  farther  on,  where  the  wall 
ended,  came  another  board,  which  said,  simply:  — 


THANK  YOU! 


Philip's  comment  on  this  pretty  device  was 
characteristic. 

"What  a  beast  you  would  feel,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, "if  you  didn't  drive  slowly  and  then  found 
that  'Thank  You!'  sticking  out  at  the  end!" 

He  made  a  mental  note  that  if  ever  he  possessed 
a  car  of  his  own  and  came  to  this  wall,  he  would 
comply  punctiliously  with  the  request  upon  the 
first  board  and  so  earn  the  right  to  read  the  second. 
He  added  a  rider  to  the  effect  that  if  ever  he  pos- 
sessed a  house  of  his  own  like  that  he  would  put  out 
a  similar  board. 

He  had  scarcely  passed  the  second  of  the  con- 
cealed gates  —  the  first  was  a  mere  kitchen  door  — 


114  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

when  there  was  a  grinding  of  bolts,  and  the  gates 
were  dragged  open,  slowly  but  resolutely,  first  one 
and  then  the  other,  by  a  small  but  intensely  fat 
girl  of  seven  or  eight.  This  proceeding  exposed 
to  view  the  front  of  an  ancient  and  ivy-clad  house. 
Exactly  opposite  to  the  front  door  stood  a  motor- 
car of  antique  design  and  dilapidated  appearance. 
From  beneath  the  car  projected  a  pair  of  human 
feet,  attached  to  a  pair  of  lengthy  legs.  The  owner 
of  the  legs  was  apparently  doing  something  painful 
to  the  underbody  of  the  car,  from  beneath  which 
came  a  stream  of  objurations  of  a  bloodthirsty  but 
innocuous  type,  punctuated  by  the  clink  of  a 
spanner. 

The  small  girl,  breathing  heavily,  stooped  down 
to  inspect  these  operations.  Presently,  adopting 
a  more  comfortable  but  somewhat  reptilian  atti- 
tude, she  crawled  bodily  under  the  car.  Here  she 
encountered  the  head  of  the  mechanic,  who  was 
lying  on  his  back,  engaged  apparently  in  the  task  of 
removing  mud-stalactites  from  the  bottom  of  the 
car  with  a  spanner.  As  fast  as  the  stalactites  were 
dislodged  they  fell  into  the  excavator's  eyes  or 
mouth. 

"What  are  you  doin'  of,  Daddy?"  enquired  a 
husky  but  interested  voice  in  his  ear. 

' '  Eating  mud , ' '  replied  the  mechanic .  ' '  Splendid 
thing  for  the  digestion,  Dumps.  Have  some?'* 

"No,  thank  you,"  was  the  dignified  reply.  "I 
shall  be  havin'  a  glass  of  milk  soon.  But  I  will 
watch  you,"  added  Miss  Dumps  indulgently. 

She  rolled  over  with  some  difficulty  on  to  her 
back,  and  lay  staring  solemnly  at  the  mud- 


THE  ECCENTRIC  GENTLEMAN    115 

encrusted  vault  above  her,  while  her  harassed 
parent  resumed  his  task  of  digging  with  the  span- 
ner for  a  buried  nut. 

"I've  opened  the  gates,  Daddy,"  announced  the 
small  lady  presently,  in  tones  which  were  intended 
not  so  much  to  convey  information  as  to  remind 
her  companion  that  he  was  forgetting  his  duties  as 
a  conversationalist. 

"Thank  you, madam," replied  Mr.  Mablethorpe. 
"Is  the  road  clear?" 

"I  seen  a  little  boy." 

"Trust  you  for  that!  Well,  we  must  contrive 
not  to  run  over  him.  Just  look  in  my  left  ear  and 
see  if  you  can  find  a  nut,  there's  a  good  girl.  I 
rather  fancy  I  heard  it  drop  in  just  now.  No,  don't 
bother.  Here  it  is  in  my  eye.  Now  we  are  really 
getting  on!" 

He  adjusted  the  nut  to  the  now  exhumed  bolt, 
and  began  to  screw  it  tight  with  the  spanner.  The 
recumbent  Dumps  turned  her  head  and  regarded 
him  admiringly. 

"You  are  clever,  Daddy!"  she  said. 

"You  are  right,"  admitted  her  parent  modestly. 
"I  am  a  wonder.  People  simply  come  miles  to  — 
Dash  and  confound  the  rotten  thing!  Run  your 
finger  round  the  inside  of  my  collar,  Daniel  Lam- 
bert. I  think  I  can  feel  it  lying  somewhere  round  at 
the  back." 

Once  more  the  fugitive  nut  was  recaptured  and 
replaced  —  this  time  permanently.  Mr.  Julius 
Mablethorpe  wriggled  painfully  from  under  the 
car  on  the  gravel  drive,  and  then,  rising  to  his  legs, 
politely  dragged  his  daughter  out  by  the  heels,  and 


116  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

having  first  stood  her  upon  her  head  (in  order,  as  he 
explained,  to  give  her  feet  a  rest)  restored  her  to  an 
upright  position,  and  surveyed  her  doubtfully. 

"We  shall  get  into  trouble  with  Mother,  Dump- 
ling," was  his  first  remark. 

He  was  right.  At  that  moment  the  front  door 
opened,  and  Mrs.  Mablethorpe  appeared. 

"I  can  only  say,  Julius,"  she  began  at  once,  — 
as  a  matter  of  fact,  no  one  had  invited  her  to  say 
anything.  —  "that  I  am  not  in  the  least  surprised 
at  anything  you  may  do;  but  I  think"  —  her  voice 
quavered  tearfully  —  "that  you  might  have  had 
the  sense  to  prevent  that  child  from  crawling  about 
in  the  mud  too.  Baby,  go  into  the  house  and  ask 
nurse  to  give  you  a  bath  at  once.  Your  hands  and 
face  are  black ! " 

"But  I  am  quite  white,  Mummy,"  replied  Miss 
Dumpling  soothingly  (one  soon  picked  up  the  habit 
of  speaking  soothingly  to  Mrs.  Mablethorpe),  "all 
over  the  rest  of  myself.  Look,  I'll  show  you!" 

Before  any  one  could  stop  her,  the  infant  de- 
tached a  stocking  from  its  moorings  and  rolled  it 
down  to  her  ankle. 

"There!"  she  said  triumphantly. 

Mrs.  Mablethorpe,  fearing  further  enterprise, 
hurriedly  reiterated  her  ultimatum  on  the  subject 
of  a  bath. 

"A  good  hot  one,"  she  added. 

"The  kiddie  would  do  much  better  to  wash  her 
hands  and  face  in  cold  water,"  said  Mr.  Mable- 
thorpe. "What  she  is  covered  with  is  chiefly  oil, 
and  hot  water  will  only  open  her  little  pores  and 
drive  it  in." 


THE  ECCENTRIC  GENTLEMAN    117 

Mrs.  Mablethorpe  put  her  hand  to  her  head, 
dizzily. 

"You  know  I  cannot  bear  argument,  Julius," 
she  said,  with  a  little  moan. 

"Sorry!"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe  humbly.  "We 
must  do  as  we  are  told,  Dumps.  We  will  go  up- 
stairs and  wash  in  hot  water.  Then  we  shall  have 
black  hands  and  faces  for  months  and  months, 
and  Mother  won't  be  able  to  take  us  to  Church. 
Hurrah!" 

And  this  undutiful  parent  and  callous  husband 
caught  up  his  daughter  on  his  shoulder  and  car- 
ried her,  shrieking  joyfully,  to  the  nursery.  Five 
minutes  later  he  descended,  clean  and  smiling,  and 
after  caressing  his  hypochondriacal  spouse,  set  to 
work  to  start  up  his  engine.  After  three  back-fires 
this  feat  was  accomplished,  and  the  car,  with  much 
burring  of  gear-wheels  and  slipping  of  the  clutch, 
started  off  upon  its  deafening  career.  The  vehicle 
in  question  was  an  old  friend,  and  like  most  old 
friends  felt  privileged  to  speak  its  mind  on  all 
occasions,  which  it  did  with  no  uncertain  voice. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe,  having  safely  negociated  the 
gateway,  —  no  light  feat,  considering  the  amount 
of  play  on  his  steering-wheel,  —  turned  sharp  to 
the  right  and  proceeded  northward.  Presently  he 
came  to  four  cross-roads.  At  the  foot  of  the  sign- 
post sat  a  small,  sturdy,  and  well-dressed  boy,  with 
short,  curly,  red  hair  and  hazel-green  eyes. 

As  the  car  slowed  down  in  case  of  cross  traffic 
the  boy  rose  to  his  feet,  and  ranging  up  alongside 
asked  a  polite  question. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  leaned  over  as  far  as  he  could. 


118  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Is  it  very  important?"  he  yelled  above  the  din. 
"If  I  stop  this  engine  to  listen  to  you  I  may  never 
be  able  to  start  it  again." 

Philip  replied  with  the  full  pressure  of  his  lungs, 
but  the  only  distinguishable  word  was  "Coven- 
try." The  amiable  Mr.  Mablethorpe  accordingly 
switched  off  the  current,  and  the  engine  clanked 
itself  into  a  state  of  coma. 

"Now  let  us  hear  all  about  it,"  he  said. 

"Can  you  please  tell  me  the  way  to  Coventry?" 
enquired  Philip. 

"Coventry  —  eh?  Have  you  been  sent  there?" 
Mr.  Mablethorpe's  eye  twinkled. 

"No.  I'm  going  of  my  own  accord,"  said  Philip 
innocently. 

"First  time  I  have  heard  of  a  man  sending  him- 
self to  Coventry,"  mused  Mr.  Mablethorpe.  He 
surveyed  Philip's  bewildered  face  with  interest. 
"Perhaps  you  don't  catch  the  allusion,  though. 
Don't  you  ever  send  any  one  to  Coventry  at 
school?" 

"I  have  never  been  to  school,  sir,"  replied 
Philip. 

"That's  a  pity,"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe.  "But 
to  resume.  Coventry  must  be  a  good  eighty  miles 
from  here.  Do  you  propose  to  walk?" 

"Yes." 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  eyed  the  pedestrian  curiously. 
"Running  away?"  he  asked. 

"Sort  of, "admitted  Philip.   ' 

"Well,  I  have  only  one  motto  in  life,"  said  Mr. 
Mablethorpe,  "and  that  is,  'Mind  your  own  busi- 
ness!' So  I  will  refrain  from  comment.  I  don't 


THE  ECCENTRIC  GENTLEMAN    119 

know  where  Coventry  is,  but  I  should  think  you 
would  not  go  far  wrong  if  you  kept  along  this  road, 
and  asked  again  later.  Now,  with  your  permission, 
I  must  be  getting  on." 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  had  not  proceeded  far  on  his 
way  —  to  his  surprise  and  gratification  the  engine 
had  come  to  life  almost  immediately  —  when  his 
conscience  smote  him. 

"I  might  have  offered  the  little  beggar  a  lift,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "Silly  not  to  have  thought  of  it. 
He  has  a  longish  journey  before  him  —  that  is,  if 
Papa  does  n't  lay  him  by  the  heels.  I  might  stop 
and  let  him  overtake  me.  I  wonder  where  he 
is." 

He  leaned  over  the  side  of  the  car  and  surveyed 
the  road  behind  him. 

The  car,  which  had  been  waiting  for  some  such 
opportunity  as  this  all  morning,  promptly  mounted 
the  footpath  and  charged  a  hedge.  Fortunately  it 
was  climbing  a  hill  on  its  first  speed  at  the  time,  so 
the  results  of  the  impact  were  not  serious. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe,  who  was  quite  accustomed  to 
mishaps  of  this  kind,  stopped  his  engine,  and  de- 
scended to  earth  to  review  the  situation. 

The  first  object  which  met  his  eye  was  Philip  — 
a  little  blown  and  obviously  taken  by  surprise  — 
standing  in  the  road  with  one  hand  still  upon  the 
Cape-cart  hood. 

"Hallo!"  remarked  Mr.  Mablethorpe  genially. 
"Still  here?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Philip.  "I  thought  I  would  run 
behind." 

"Better  come  and  sit  in  front,"  advised  Mr. 


120  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Mablethorpe.  "But  first  of  all  we  must  get  Boan- 
erges out  of  the  hedge." 

"Who?" 

"Boanerges.  Let  me  introduce  you.  I  present 
Boanerges  —  my  superb,  four-seated,  two-cylin- 
der, one  dog-power  reaping  machine  —  to  — to — 
Mr.  —  " 

"Philip  Meldrum." 

" — To  Mr.  Philip  Meldrum.  Now  you  know  one 
another.  (At  least,  Boanerges  knows  you:  you 
don't  know  Boanerges.)  Come  and  help  to  shove 
his  ugly  face  in!" 

Philip  assisted  his  new  and  eccentric  friend  to 
disentangle  Boanerges  from  the  hedge  and  push 
him  back  into  the  roadway,  and  then  obediently 
took  his  seat.  He  was  trembling  with  pure  ecstasy. 
He  was  in  a  motor-car !  At  last  he  had  stepped  from 
textbooks  into  the  realms  of  reality. 

He  surveyed  the  various  appliances  on  the  dingy 
dashboard.  There  were  two  switches  of  the  electric 
light  variety,  one  marked  "  M  "  and  the  other  "A," 
which  Philip  knew  stood  for  Magneto  and  Accum- 
ulator respectively.  There  was  an  oil-reservoir,  with 
a  piston-rod  protruding  from  the  top,  and  a  glass 
gauge  at  one  side  to  show  the  level  of  the  oil.  Last 
of  all,  suspended  from  its  tail  by  a  drawing  pin, 
came  a  clockwork  mouse,  which  had  originally 
been  the  property  of  the  Dumpling  and  was  now 
spending  its  declining  years  as  a  motor-mascot. 
Meanwhile  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  with  the  assistance 
of  the  starting-handle,  had  been  playing  a  monoto- 
nous and  unmelodious  tune  upon  his  hurdy-gurdy- 
like  engine.  Presently  he  paused  for  breath. 


THE  ECCENTRIC  GENTLEMAN    121 

"Boanerges  takes  a  lot  of  starting-up,"  he 
explained.  "I'll  have  one  more  go,  and  if  that 
fails  we  will  run  him  backwards  down  the  hill  and 
let  the  reverse  in.  That  ought  to  do  it." 

"Are  you  running  on  magneto  or  accumulator, 
sir?"  enquired  Philip. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  left  the  starting-handle  and 
came  thoughtfully  round  to  the  side  of  the  car. 

"I  don't  seem  to  be  running  on  either,"  he 
remarked.  "My  mistake!  Let  us  try  this  little 
fellow." 

He  turned  down  the  switch  marked  "A,"  and  re- 
turned to  his  labours.  The  immediate  result  was  a 
stunning  explosion  immediately  under  Philip's  feet. 

"That  is  the  first  gun,"  explained  Mr.  Mable- 
thorpe. "He  always  gives  us  three  before  we  start. 
The  first  is  a  protest;  the  second  means  "Drop  it,  or 
there  will  be  trouble! '  and  the  third  usually  ushers  in 
a  conflagration.  After  that  I  blow  the  flames  out, 
and  off  we  go!" 

But  this  was  too  sanguine  an  estimate.  After 
five  resounding  back-fires  the  engine  still  failed  to 
exhibit  any  signs  of  abiding  vitality,  although  the 
accumulator  had  been  reinforced  by  the  magneto. 
Mr.  Mablethorpe  accordingly  took  his  seat  at  the 
wheel  and,  releasing  the  brakes,  allowed  the  car  to 
slide  rapidly  backward  down  the  hill.  At  the  same 
time  he  performed  some  complicated  evolutions 
with  his  feet. 

Instantly  the  engine  sprang  into  life,  and  Boan- 
erges, with  a  playful  swerve,  shot  stern  foremost 
into  a  bank  at  the  other  side  of  the  highway,  with  a 
bump  which  nearly  sent  Philip  back-somersaulting 


122  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

into  the  seat  behind.  The  engine  immediately 
stopped  again. 

That  resourceful  but  unconventional  mechanic, 
the  owner  of  the  car,  abandoned  his  pedal-work, 
descended  once  more  into  the  road,  and  after  dis- 
passionately kicking  Boanerges  three  times  in  the 
pit  of  his  stomach  —  the  radiator  —  seized  the 
starting-handle  and  gave  it  another  resolute  twirl. 

This  time  his  efforts  were  successful  beyond  all 
expectation.  Boanerges  promptly  charged  forward, 
nearly  pinning  his  tormentor  beneath  his  off -front 
wheel,  and  proceeded  smartly  up  the  hill  once 
more,  Mr.  Mablethorpe  running  frantically  along- 
side and  endeavouring  to  climb  into  the  driver's 
seat  over  the  spare  wheel. 

"Another  little  mistake  of  mine,"  he  panted,  as 
he  finally  hopped  on  board  and  took  the  wobbly 
steering-wheel  over  from  Philip.  "I  left  the  gears 
in  the  first  speed  instead  of  the  neutral.  But  it  is 
all  right  now.  We  are  off  like  an  Arab  steed.  Let 
me  oil  him  up." 

He  leaned  forward  and  began  to  agitate  the 
piston  in  the  oil-reservoir,  with  the  result  that 
Boanerges,  emitting  dense  fumes  of  black  smoke 
from  his  exhaust,  was  soon  breasting  the  slope  with 
quite  remarkable  vigour. 

"So  you  know  something  about  motors?"  said 
Mr.  Mablethorpe,  as  they  reached  the  top  of  the 
hill  and  began  to  slide  comfortably  down  the  other 
side. 

"Only  out  of  books,"  said  Philip.  "I  have  never 
been  in  a  car  before,  but  I  think  I  understand  the 
way  the  engine  works,  and  the  ignition," 


THE  ECCENTRIC  GENTLEMAN    123 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  surveyed  him  admiringly. 

"Wonderful!"  he  said  —  "wonderful!  Fancy 
any  human  creature  being  able  to  understand 
textbooks!  They  simply  prostrate  me.  I  dare  say," 
he  added  enviously,  "that  you  know  what  poppet- 
valves  are!  And  worm-drives,  and  differential 
sprockets !  Prodigious ! ' ' 

"Only  by  what  I  have  read  about  them  in  a 
book,"  explained  Philip  modestly. 

"Well,"  continued  Mr.  Mablethorpe.  "I  know 
of  one  thing  you  never  read  about  in  a  book,  and 
that  was  a  car  like  this.  Boanerges  was  built 
before  the  printing-press  was  -invented  —  in  the 
dark  ages  —  in  the  days  of  the  Black  Art.  Look  at 
those  two  switches,  marked  *M'  and  'A.'  They 
stand  for  '  Mephistopheles  and  Apollyon '  —  the 
name  of  the  firm  who  supplied  the  engine.  Oh,  it 's 
an  eerie  vehicle,  this.  Observe  this  pedal.  You 
would  n't  think  a  pedal  could  do  more  than  just  go 
up  and  down,  would  you?" 

"It  might  take  out  the  clutch,  or  put  on  the 
brake,  sir,"  hazarded  Philip  respectfully. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  waved  his  hand  contemptu- 
ously. 

"That's  nothing,"  he  said.  "Steady,  old  man!" 
(This  to  Boanerges,  who,  feeling  his  owner's  grip  of 
the  wheel  relax,  had  swerved  quite  thirty  degrees 
out  of  his  course.)  "This  car  was  designed  by  a 
man  without  hands  or  arms  —  only  feet  and  teeth. 
At  least,  I  think  so.  His  idea  was  to  steer  with  his 
teeth  and  do  everything  else  with  his  feet.  So  he 
started  by  abolishing  gear-handles  and  side-brakes, 
and  applied  all  his  ingenuity  to  the  pedals.  Look 


124  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

at  this  one,  —  the  left.  If  I  push  it  half-down,  the 
car  stops.  If  I  push  it  two  thirds  down,  the  car 
starts  again  —  in  the  opposite  direction  —  and  the 
engine  plays  I  wish  I  was  an  Angel,  instead  of 
Hitchy  Kool  We  have  a  lot  of  fun  in  close  traffic 
that  way.  If  I  push  it  seven  eighths  down,  the 
radiator  boils  over,  and  I  can  have  a  shave  or  a  cup 
of  tea;  and  if  I  put  it  right  down,  the  car  turns 
inside  out  and  becomes  a  portable  camp  bedstead. 
I  won't  do  that  at  present,  because  I  am  not 
sleepy." 

All  this  surprising  information  was  communi- 
cated with  an  air  of  solemn  and  confidential  con- 
viction; and  Philip,  who  had  never  previously 
encountered  any  one  endowed  with  Mr.  Mable- 
thorpe's  peculiar  brand  of  humour,  merely  gaped 
dumbly. 

"Yes,  Boanerges  is  a  car  of  mystery,"  continued 
this  excellent  but  frivolous  man  presently.  "There 
is  a  little  handle-arrangement  down  here,  in  the 
corner  of  the  dashboard.  I  don't  know  who  put  it 
there :  I  just  noticed  it  one  day,  after  I  had  owned 
the  car  for  some  time.  I  have  only  turned  it  three 
times.  The  first  time  the  whole  of  the  back  axle 
dropped  off  into  the  road.  The  second  time  Boan- 
erges turned  right  round  and  ran  over  a  duck  which 
was  asleep  on  a  cottage  doorstep  behind  us.  The 
third  time  a  policeman  with  a  notebook  shot 
straight  up  out  of  the  roadway  in  front  of  the  car, 
and  took  my  name  and  address  for  obstructing  a 
funeral  which  had  been  trying  to  pass  me  for  two 
hours.  That  was  about  seventeen  years  ago,  just 
after  I  bought  the  car.  At  least,  I  did  n't  buy  it:  it 


THE  ECCENTRIC  GENTLEMAN    125 

was  left  to  me  by  my  great-grandmother.  I  have 
never  meddled  with  that  handle  since. 

Philip,  who  had  lived  in  serious  company  hith- 
erto, and  had  no  idea  that  grown-up  people  ever 
descended  to  imbecility  of  this  description,  began 
to  like  this  strange  gentleman.  But  he  made  no 
attempt  to  maintain  a  conversation  with  him. 
After  the  dictatorial  austerity  of  Uncle  Joseph  he 
felt  pleasantly  intoxicated  by  his  present  compan- 
ion's frothy  effervescence,  and  was  well  content  to 
lean  back  in  his  seat  and  listen. 

"Of  course,"  resumed  Mr.  Mablethorpe  pres- 
ently, "I  may  be  wrong  about  the  designer  of  this 
car  having  had  no  arms.  He  may  have  required 
them  —  one  of  them,  at  any  rate  —  for  other  pur- 
poses. For  instance ,  he  may  have  been  engaged 
to  be  married.  Are  you  engaged  to  be  married,  by 
any  chance  ?  " 

"No,"  said  Philip. 

"Ah!" 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  appeared  to  fall  into  a  fresh 
train  of  thought,  and  after  a  little  while  enquired :  — 

"What  is  your  opinion  of  the  female  sex  as  a 
whole?" 

Not  long  ago  Philip  could  have  given  his  opinion 
on  this  subject  clearly  and  concisely.  Now  he  was 
content  to  quote  the  words  of  another. 

"I  don't  quite  know,"  he  said,  "but  Uncle 
Joseph  thinks  - 

He  hesitated.  Mr.  Mablethorpe  might  not  be 
interested  in  Uncle  Joseph. 

But  this  astonishing  gentleman  appeared  to  be 
interested  in  everybody. 


126  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Tell  me  all  that  Uncle  Joseph  thinks,"  he 
commanded. 

"Uncle  Joseph,"  began  Philip,  "used  to  wonder 
why  women  were  ever  created." 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  turned  and  regarded  his  small 
companion  sharply. 

"Aha!  Uncle  Joseph  used  to  wonder  that,  did 
he?  Why?" 

"He  said,"  continued  Philip,  warming  to  his 
subject  as  the  familiar  phrases  came  back  to  him, 
"that  there  is  no  parallel  to  the  female  mind  in  any 
other  branch  of  Nature." 

"That  is  true,"  remarked  Mr.  Mablethorpe 
approvingly.  "I  should  like  to  meet  Uncle  Joseph. 
Go  on." 

"It  seems  incredible,"  pursued  Philip,  with  a 
curiously  incongruous  expression  of  intense  wisdom 
upon  his  honest  and  ingenuous  features,  "that 
Providence  should  handicap  its  own  beautifully 
designed  human  engines  by  placing  them  in  daily 
contact  with  such  a  piece  of  uncontrolled  and  ill- 
balanced  mechanism  as  Woman." 

"Oho!"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  manipulating 
the  oil-pump,  to  the  noisome  satisfaction  of  Boan- 
erges; "Uncle  Joseph  said  that,  did  he?" 

"Yes;  and  he  said  putting  women  near  a  man 
was  like  putting  a  lot  of  bar-magnets  round  a  com- 
pass. And  he  said  they  were  parasites,  too,  actu- 
ated by  predatory  instincts.  They  — ' 

But  Mr.  Mablethorpe  interrupted  him. 

"Uncle  Joseph,  I  take  it,"  he  said,  "is  a  married 
man." 

"Oh,  no,"  replied  Philip,  "he  is  a  bachelor.  He 


THE  ECCENTRIC  GENTLEMAN    127 

never  allows  a  woman  into  his  house,  even  to  wash, 
-  at  least,  he  never  did  until  the  other  day,  when 
the  Beautiful  Lady  came.  And  then  —  well,  I 
did  n't  know  what  to  think,  sir,"  he  concluded 
helplessly. 

"This,"  commented  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  "is  ellip- 
tical but  interesting.  Proceed,  my  infant  miso- 
gynist. Who  was  the  Beautiful  Lady,  and  why  did 
she  call?" 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Philip,  knitting  his  brows,  "it 
was  like  this.    No  woman  is  ever  —  was  ever  - 
allowed  into  our  house,  because  —  because  of  what 
Uncle  Joseph  thinks — thought — about  them.  Yes- 
terday a  lady  called  when  he  was  out,  and  got  in." 

"Who  let  her  in?"  enquired  the  accusing  voice 
of  Mr.  Mablethorpe. 

"I'm  afraid  I  did,  sir"  replied  Philip  apolo- 
getically. 

"I  am  not  in  the  least  surprised  to  hear  it,"  said 
Mr.  Mablethorpe.  "What  was  she  like?" 

"She  was  all  in  black,  and  she  sat  and  talked  to 
me  for  a  long  time,  and  told  me  she  had  lost  her 
little  girl.  Then  Uncle  Joseph  came  in,  and  — and 
—  and  they  seemed  to  know  each  other  quite  well, 
sir." 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  deliberately  switched  off  his 
engine  and  slowed  down  to  a  stop  at  the  roadside. 

"Now  we  can  talk  without  shouting,"  he  said. 
"I  scent  copy.  This  is  a  real  live  Romance.  Con- 
tinue. How  well  did  Uncle  Joseph  and  the  Beauti- 
ful Lady  appear  to  know  one  another?" 

"Pretty  well,"  faltered  Philip,  with  boylike 
reserve. 


128  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Mr.  Mablethorpe,  who  had  once  been  a  boy 
himself,  —  there  were  some  who  said  that  he  had 
never  grown  up,  —  nodded  understandingly. 

"And  what  happened  after  that?"  he  asked. 

"I  ran  away,"  said  Philip. 

"Why?" 

"They  did  not  seem  to  need  me  any  more,"  said 
Philip  simply. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  produced  a  pipe,  and  filled  it 
with  great  care.  He  appeared  to  be  thinking 
deeply  about  something.  Presently,  after  lighting 
the  pipe,  he  turned  to  Philip,  and  said:  — 

"Are  you  in  a  pressing  hurry  to  get  to  Coventry?" 

Philip  thought  not,  and  said  so. 

"Then  why  not  come  and  stay  with  me  for  a 
bit?"  suggested  this  amazing  man. 


CHAPTER  XI 

RED   GABLES 

AN  hour  later,  shopping  commissions  having 
been  executed,  they  clanked  majestically  home- 
ward. The  journey  was  completed  without  further 
mishap,  though  a  frisky  calf,  encountered  by  the 
way,  almost  wrecked  its  own  prospects  of  ever 
becoming  veal  by  an  untimely  indulgence  in  the 
game  of  "Come  to  Mother,  or  Last  Across  the 
Road,"  —  that  was  how  Mr.  Mablethorpe  de- 
scribed it,  —  gambolling  unexpectedly  under  the 
very  bows  of  Boanerges  in  response  to  the  ill- 
judged  appeal  of  an  anxious  parent  on  the  opposite 
side  of  the  highway. 

Presently  the  long  red  wall,  with  its  polite  notice 
to  motorists,  came  into  view  on  then*  left,  and  the 
car  slowed  down.  Philip  realised  with  pleasure 
that  this  was  his  destination. 

"Did  you  put  up  that  notice,  sir?'*  he  enquired. 

"I  put  it  up,"  replied  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  "but 
my  daughter  composed  it.  She  makes  rather  a 
special  feature  of  the  common  courtesies  of  life. 
Mind  your  elbow  against  that  gatepost." 

Two  minutes  later  Philip  found  himself  being 
presented  to  a  languid  but  still  pretty  lady,  who 
assured  him,  hi  a  speech  which  appeared  in  some 
curious  way  to  be  addressed  to  Mr.  Mablethorpe 
rather  than  himself,  that  she  was  charmed  to  meet 


130  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

him,  in  spite  of  a  headache,  and  that  she  had  no 
doubt  that  fresh  servants  would  ultimately  be 
forthcoming  to  take  the  places  of  those  whose  resig- 
nations the  introduction  of  an  unexpected  boy  into 
a  hitherto  tranquil  household  would  naturally 
precipitate.  Adding  a  mournful  postscript  to  the 
effect  that  Philip  would  doubtless  have  made  an 
admirable  secretary  for  her  husband,  but  for  the 
fact  that  his  uncle  would  inevitably  insist  upon  his 
speedy  return  to  Holly  Lodge,  Mrs.  Mablethorpe, 
with  a  look  of  patient  endurance  upon  her  delicate 
features,  faded  away  upstairs,  to  bedew  herself 
with  eau-de-Cologne  and  partake  of  luncheon  in 
bed. 

"Friends,"  observed  Mr.  Mablethorpe  solemnly 
as  his  wife  disappeared,  "are  requested  to  accept 
this  (the  only)  intimation  and  invitation.  Now, 
Philip,  come  and  be  introduced  to  my  daughter." 

The  three  spent  a  perfectly  happy  afternoon 
together.  Miss  Dumpling  treated  "the  new  in- 
mate," as  Mr.  Mablethorpe  called  Philip,  with 
marked  favour,  introducing  him  seriatim  to  three 
cows,  named  respectively  Boo,  Moo,  and  Coo;  a 
family  of  lop-eared  rabbits;  and  an  aged  gramo- 
phone suffering  from  bronchial  weakness. 

Towards  tea-time  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  who  knew 
his  wife  almost  as  well  as  he  loved  her,  penetrated 
to  the  invalid's  bedroom,  and  there  apologised  in 
the  most  handsome  manner  for  several  crimes 
which  he  had  not  committed.  Mrs.  Mablethorpe, 
having  delivered  herself  of  a  brief  homily  upon  the 
whole  duty  of  a  husband  entrusted 'with  the  care  of 
a  delicate  wife,  now  felt  sufficiently  recovered  to 


RED  GABLES  131 

come  downstairs  and  partake  of  a  tea  of  encourag- 
ing dimensions. 

Philip  surveyed  her  curiously.  His  feminine 
horizon  was  enlarging  itself. 

"Julius,  dear,"  observed  Mrs.  Mablethorpe 
presently,  "I  know,  of  course,  that  it  is  perfectly 
useless  to  say  anything  to  you  about  Baby's  up- 
bringing, —  the  child  is  ruined  for  life  by  this  time, 
—  but  I  must  protest,  however  feebly,  against 
your  feeding  her  with  that  sweet  and  sticky  cake. 
We  shall  have  her  running  in  and  out  of  the  den- 
tist's every  five  minutes  in  a  year  or  two." 

"You  hear  that,  Daniel  Lambert?"  asked  Mr. 
Mablethorpe  of  his  ruined  child.  "Mother  says 
we  are  n't  to  have  any  more  cake.  I  think  it  is 
most  tyrannical  of  her:  she  knows  how  we  love 
running  in  and  out  of  the  dentist's.  But  we  must 
obey  orders.  About  turn,  and  let  us  get  back  to 
the  bread-and-butter!  Come  on  —  I'll  race  you!" 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  began  to  munch  bread-and- 
butter  with  enormous  enthusiasm,  and  poor 
Dumps,  reluctantly  laying  down  a  generous  slice 
of  plum-cake,  followed  his  example.  But  when  the 
trio  finally  obtained  permission  to  retire  to  the 
library  and  play  at  "wolves"  — a  pastime  to 
which  it  appeared  that  Mr.  Mablethorpe  was  much 
addicted  —  and  tumbled  upstairs  together,  Philip 
overheard  the  unregenerate  father  whisper  to  his 
daughter:  — 

"If  you  wish  a  wish  and  then  feel  in  my  pocket, 
old  lady,  you  may  find  something." 

In  the  library  the  Dumpling  offered  Philip  a 
share  in  a  large  slice  of  plum-cake. 


132  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Philip  went  to  bed  that  evening  in  the  room 
which  had  been  prepared  for  his  reception  (fortu- 
nately without  causing  any  break-up  in  the  staff  of 
the  establishment),  but  did  not  sleep  for  a  long 
while.  He  had  much  to  think  of.  It  seemed  almost 
incredible  that  he  had  left  Holly  Lodge  only  yester- 
day, and  that  it  was  only  last  night  that  he  had 
slept  with  the  wolf-scarers  in  Montagu  Falconer's 
studio;  yet  it  was  a  fact.  The  remembrance  of  the 
studio  brought  back  visions  of  Peggy.  He  won- 
dered when,  if  ever,  he  should  see  her  again.  He 
compared  her  with  Dumps,  but  quickly  realised 
that  comparisons  were  impossible.  Dumps  was  a 
decent  little  kid,  though  fat,  but  she  was  not  Pegs. 

Then  he  thought  of  Dumps's  parents,  and  he 
began  to  understand  that  it  takes  all  sorts  to  make 
a  world.  He  was  beginning  to  realise  the  import- 
ance, in  every  department  of  life,  of  "  making 
allowances."  This  duty  was  not  confined  to  one 
sex,  as  he  had  previously  imagined.  Mrs.  Falconer, 
it  was  true,  spent  her  life  in  making  allowances  for 
Mr.  Falconer.  But  here  was  Mr.  Mablethorpe 
doing  precisely  the  same  thing  for  Mrs.  Mable- 
thorpe. 

Finally,  he  thought  of  Uncle  Joseph  and  the 
Beautiful  Lady.  Perhaps,  he  reflected,  if  these 
two  had  made  allowances  for  one  another  earlier  in 
life  their  coming  together  would  not  have  been 
delayed  for  ten  years. 

Incidentally  he  made  a  note  that,  dragons  having 
become  obsolete,  a  knight  might  do  worse  than  set 
out  to  persuade  people  to  make  allowances  for  one 
another. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE   OFFICIAL   DEMISE   OF   TOMMY   SMITH 

NEXT  morning  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  after  a  quite 
unexpectedly  serious  conversation  with  Philip, 
departed  upon  Boanerges  to  seek  out  Uncle  Joseph. 

Having  achieved  a  comparatively  unadventurous 
journey  (if  we  except  a  collision  with  a  milk-cart  in 
the  Finchley  Road),  he  drew  up  at  Holly  Lodge, 
which  looked  very  much  the  same  as  when  Philip 
had  left  it  two  days  before,  save  that  a  large  board, 
newly  painted  and  announcing  that  "This  House" 
was  to  be  "Let  or  Sold,"  projected  over  the  laurel 
hedge  which  separated  the  gravel  sweep  from  the 
roadway. 

Uncle  Joseph  was  at  home,  and  received  his 
visitor  in  the  library. 

The  owner  of  Boanerges  came  to  the  point  at 
once. 

"My  name,"  he  said,  "is  Mablethorpe.  I  do  not 
suppose  that  the  information  will  interest  you  in 
the  least,  but  it  is  customary  to  give  it.  What  is 
more  to  the  point  is  the  fact  that  I  have  found  a 
stray  nephew.  Have  you  lost  one?" 

Uncle  Joseph  admitted  that  this  was  so. 

"He  appears  to  have  left  home,"  continued  Mr. 
Mablethorpe,  "two  days  ago,  owing  to  a  sudden 
and  rather  unexpected  change  in  your  domestic 
routine." 


134  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"He  told  you  the  story,  then?" 

"Yes." 

"I  cannot  quite  understand,"  said  Uncle  Joseph, 
"why  the  event  to  which  you  refer  should  have 
made  it  necessary  for  him  to  leave  my  house.  In 
fact,  I  should  have  thought  it  would  have  been  an 
inducement  to  him  to  remain.  Have  a  cigar?" 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  helped  himself,  and  replied 
thoughtfully :  - 

"  I  gather  that  the  —  the  event  to  which  we  have 
referred  absolved  him«,  in  his  rather  immature 
judgment,  from  further  allegiance  to  your  person 
and  service." 

Uncle  Joseph  eyed  his  visitor  keenly. 

"Service  —  eh?  Did  he  explain  to  you  the 
nature  of  his  services?" 

"Yes,  he  told  me  all  about  it.  The  Kind  Young 
Hearts,  the  Unwanted  Doggies,  Tommy  Smith  — 
everything.  I  made  him  tell  me  every  shred  of  the 
story.  I  would  not  have  missed  a  word  of  it.  It  was 
priceless  —  immense  —  the  most  brilliant  thing  I 
ever  heard  of !  As  a  brother-artist,  in  a  smaller  and 
less  remunerative  way,  I  beg  to  offer  you  my  felici- 
tations and  thanks.  But  our  young  friend  Philip 
appears  to  have  found  his  share  of  the  work  uncon- 
genial. Apparently  his  conscience  — 

"Not  his  conscience,"  interposed  Uncle  Joseph: 
"his  disposition.  The  boy  is  a  born  sentimentalist, 
like  his  father  before  him.  I  had  noticed  the  pater- 
nal characteristics  developing  for  some  time,  and  I 
expected  an  upheaval  sooner  or  later.  The  —  the 
event  to  which  reference  has  been  made  precipi- 
tated matters,  that  is  all." 


DEMISE  OF  TOMMY  SMITH       135 

"Quite  so,"  agreed  Mr.  Mablethorpe.  "But 
whatever  his  underlying  forces  may  be,  your 
nephew  appears  to  be  a  youth  of  some  directness 
of  character.  When  I  intercepted  him  yesterday 
he  was  on  his  way  to  Coventry,  with  the  intention 
of  studying  the  mechanics  of  automobilism.  He  is 
now  in  my  house,  and  on  my  representations  has 
agreed  to  place  his  future  unreservedly  in  your 
hands.  But  I  don't  think  you  will  persuade  him  to 
go  back  to  the  Little  Tommy  Smith  business,  you 
know." 

"There  is  no  need,"  said  Uncle  Joseph.  "Little 
Tommy  Smith  is  dead,  and  his  works  have  perished 
with  him." 

"So  I  had  gathered,"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe. 

"How?"  asked  Uncle  Joseph,  a  little  startled. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  waved  his  hand  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  window. 

"Partly  from  the  presence  of  that  board  out- 
side," he  said,  "and  partly  because,  in  the  light  of 
—  of  recent  events,  any  other  denouement  would 
have  been  an  inartistic  anticlimax,  contrary  to  the 
canons  of  the  best  fiction." 

Uncle  Joseph  surveyed  his  rather  unusual  visitor 
with  interest. 

"You  appear  to  know  something  of  men  and 
women,"  he  said. 

"I  have  to,"  explained  Mr.  Mablethorpe.  "I 
make  a  living  by  studying  the  weaknesses  of  man- 
kind and  publishing  the  results  of  my  observations 
at  four-and-sixpence  net." 

"A  novelist,  I  gather." 

"Yes,  but  of  the  obsolete  school.    I  hate  your 


136  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

morbid,  soul-dissecting,  self-centred  pessimist  like 
poison.  I  go  in  for  happy  endings  and  the  eternal 
good  in  human  nature.  In  this  respect  I  rejoice 
to  observe  that  you  are  not  going  to  disappoint 
me." 

Uncle  Joseph's  cold  blue  eyes  glowed  suddenly. 

"No,  thank  God!"  he  said;  "I  am  not." 

After  that  he  told  Mr.  Mablethorpe  the  rest  of 
the  story. 

"Her  husband  died  five  years  ago.  I  rather 
gather  it  was  drink,  but  I  did  not  press  the  point. 
I  am  quite  content  to  accept  the  official  virtues  of 
the  deceased  as  enumerated  on  his  tombstone  and 
let  his  hobbies  drop  into  oblivion.  She  had  one 
little  girl,  who  died,  too;  and  since  then  she  has 
been  living  alone  —  quite  alone.  Poor  soul,  she 
has  paid  —  paid  in  full.  Perhaps  I  have,  too. 
Pride,  pride!  Have  you  ever  noticed,  in  your  ob- 
servations of  human  life,  how  very  heavily  —  dis- 
proportionately, one  might  say  —  God  punishes 
pride?  Sins  which  arise  from  weakness  seem  to  get 
off,  on  the  whole,  rather  more  lightly  than  they 
deserve;  but  the  sins  of  the  strong  —  pride,  ob- 
duracy, even  reticence  —  never!  I  suppose  it  is 
God's  way  of  rubbing  in  the  fact  that  Strength 
Belongeth  to  the  Lord  Alone." 

"I  don't  think  that  the  strong  get  punished  more 
heavily  than  the  weak,"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe, 
"but  they  feel  their  punishment  much  more 
keenly.  It  is  impossible  to  punish  the  weak.  They 
run  howling  to  their  betters  the  moment  they  feel 
the  first  whack,  and  unload  their  woes  on  to  them. 
But  the  strong,  especially  the  proud,  endure  their 


DEMISE  OF  TOMMY  SMITH       137 

punishment  and  say  nothing.  That's  why  it  hurts 
so." 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  said  Uncle  Joseph. 
"But  we  appear  to  be  digressing  into  philosophy. 
I  am  to  be  married  next  month,  and  we  are  going  to 
live  in  the  country.  She  has  been  left  very  poorly 
off,  as  the  money  has  passed  on  with  the  title.  But 
I  think  we  shall  be  tolerably  comfortable  —  and 
busy.  We  have  some  small  arrears  of  happiness  to 
make  up." 

"And  your  benevolent  exercises,"  said  Mr. 
Mablethorpe,  after  a  long  silence,  "  are  now  a  thing 
of  the  past?" 

"Yes.  Frankly,  I  am  sorry;  for  the  people  who 
paid  the  money  extracted  a  large  amount  of  inno- 
cent pleasure  from  giving  it,  and  it  was  a  perfect 
godsend  to  the  people  who  ultimately  received  it. 
But,  of  course,  pedantically  speaking,  the  whole 
thing  was  illegal,  and  Vivien  has  all  a  woman's 
respect  for  the  letter  of  the  law.  So  I  intend  to 
close  down.  My  charities  will  suffer,  I  fear;  but 
possibly  I  shall  be  able  to  make  good  by  personal 
service  some  of  the  deficiencies  caused  by  my  fail- 
ure as  a  source  of  revenue.  Still,  I  shall  miss  it  all. 
I  enjoyed  composing  the  appeals,  particularly." 

"I  rather  fancy  I  once  received  one  from  you," 
said  Mr.  Mablethorpe.  "I  read  it  with  great  appre- 
ciation. In  fact,  I  answered  it.  But  now,  as  to 
Master  Philip.  What  are  your  views?" 

"Supposing  I  hear  yours  first?"  said  Uncle 
Joseph. 

"Very  well.  I  am  a  comparatively  prosperous 
man.  I  have  no  son.  The  boy  interests  me,  and  I 


138  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

scent  copy  in  him.  I  also  want  an  occasional  secre- 
tary and  amanuensis.  I  suggest  that  he  should 
make  his  headquarters  with  me,  and  I  will  be 
responsible  for  his  education.  He  shall  visit  you 
whenever  and  for  as  long  as  you  want  him.  The 
only  stipulation  I  make  is  that  we  have  no  formal 
agreement  or  business  arrangement  about  him.  I 
am  not  a  man  of  business,  and  I  hate  legal  con- 
tracts and  attempts  to  harness  the  future  more 
than  anything  in  this  world.  Will  you  let  me  have 
the  boy  for  as  long  as  he  is  willing  to  stay  with 
me?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Uncle  Joseph. 

And  with  that  word  Philip's  career  as  a  misogy- 
nist and  recluse  came  to  an  official  conclusion. 


BOOK  TWO 
LABOR  OMN1A  VINCIT 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE    GOLDEN    AGE 


PHILIP'S  life  during  the  next  ten  years  resembled 
All  Gaul.  It  was  spent  partly  at  a  little  house  in 
Cheltenham,  whither  Uncle  Joseph,  with  all  his 
old  austerity  and  cynicism  thawed  out  of  him,  had 
conducted  the  Beautiful  Lady  two  months  after 
their  marriage;  partly  at  Red  Gables;  and  partly 
at  a  series  of  educational  establishments,  ranging 
from  a  private  school  in  the  neighborhood  of  St. 
Albans,  where  he  was  initiated  into  the  mysteries 
of  Latin  Prose  and  cricket,  to  the  great  engineering 
shops  of  the  Britannia  Motor  Company  at  Coven- 
try. 

Life  at  Red  Gables  was  a  very  pleasant  business. 
Philip's  duties  as  secretary  were  of  an  elastic  na- 
ture. Sometimes  he  wrote  out  cheques  for  trades- 
men and  coaxed  Mr.  Mablethorpe  into  signing 
them.  Sometimes  he  battled  with  publishers  about 
copyrights  and  royalties.  Sometimes  he  acknow- 
ledged the  receipt  of  the  letters — chiefly  from  sem- 
inaries for  young  ladies — of  those  who  wrote  to  ex- 
press their  admiration  of  Mr.  Mablethorpe's  works. 

"I  suppose,  Philip,"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe  one 
morning,  ruefully  surveying  a  highly  scented  mis- 
sive in  a  mauve  envelope,  forwarded  by  his  pub- 
lishers, "that  my  books  are  read  by  other  people 


142  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

besides  schoolgirls;  but  why  in  Heaven's  name 
should  no  one  else  ever  write  to  me  about  them? 
Not  that  I  want  any  one  to  write  at  all,  —  the 
penny  post  is  the  curse  of  modern  civilization,  — 
but  I  could  do  with  a  touch  of  variety  now  and 
then.  I  have  only  once  in  my  life  received  a  letter, 
as  an  author,  from  a  man,  and  that  was  from  a 
pork-butcher  in  the  north  of  England,  who  wrote 
to  point  out,  most  helpfully  and  sensibly,  that  I 
was  guilty  of  a  technical  error  in  making  my  hero 
purchase  both  kidneys  and  bacon  at  the  same  shop. 
I  should  like  to  get  a  lot  of  letters  like  that:  they 
are  extremely  valuable.  But  what  do  I  get?  Let- 
ters by  the  score  from  schoolgirls  —  sometimes 
from  a  syndicate  of  schoolgirls  —  all  asking  for  my 
autograph  and  endeavouring  to  find  out,  by  more 
or  less  transparent  devices,  how  old  I  am  and 
whether  I  am  married  or  not!  You  can't  choke 
them  off.  If  you  don't  answer  they  write  again, 
enclosing  a  stamped  envelope,  which  hangs  round 
your  neck  like  a  millstone  for  weeks.  If  you  do, 
they  tell  all  the  other  girls,  and  before  you  know 
where  you  are  you  find  you  have  tapped  Niagara. 
Let  us  see  what  Zenana  has  found  me  out  now." 

He  opened  the  mauve  envelope,  and  read  the 
letter  with  savage  grunts. 

"This,  Philip,"  he  said,  "is  from  Gwendoline 
Briggs  and  Clara  Waddell.  You  will  be  interested 
to  hear  that  they  sit  up  reading  my  innocuous 
works  in  the  dead  of  night,  after  the  other  girls 
have  gone  to  sleep.  Well,  I  hope  the  Head  Mistress 
catches  them  at  it,  that's  all!  ...  Here  you  are: 
what  did  I  tell  you? 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  143 

.  .  .  We  often  wonder  what  you  are  like.   One  of  us  thinks 
you  are  about  forty,  with  rather  tired  grey  eyes  — 

"Impudent  minx! 

—  but  the  other  thinks  you  are  much  younger  than  that ; 
clean-shaven,  with  a  very  firm  mouth. 

"This  sort  of  thing  makes  me  quite  sick  .  .  .  Yes, 
I  thought  as  much;  they  want  my  autograph. 

Will  you  please  send  two,  please,  as  we  are  not  sisters  — 
only  great  chums. 

"Where  do  these  brats  hail  from?"  Mr.  Mable- 
thorpe  turned  back  the  page  and  consulted  the 
heading  of  the  letter. 

ft  Bilchester  Abbey  School,  Bilchester,  Hants. 
That's  a  new  name  to  me.  Throw  over  that  di- 
rectory, Philip:  on  the  third  shelf,  to  your  right. 
Let  me  see:  Founded,  1897.  Governing  Body:  the 
Lord  Bishop  of  —  quite  so:  Head  Mistress,  Miss  — 
yes,  yes :  Assistant  Mistresses  —  never  mind  them : 
Gravel  soil;  Gymnasium;  Altitude, 'four  hundred  — 
Ah,  here  we  are:  —  Number  of  Pupils,  two  hundred 
and  seventy-three!  Great  Heavens!  This  must  be 
stopped.  Get  the  typewriter  quickly,  Philip,  and 
take  down  something! 

Mr.  Julius  Mablethorpe  regrets  deeply  that  he  is  unable 
to  accede  to  the  request  of  Mesdames  Briggs  and  Waddell 
for  his  autograph.  Mr.  Mablethorpe  had  the  misfortune 
some  years  ago  to  be  deprived  of  the  use  of  his  hands  (owing 
to  an  explosive  fountain-pen) ,  and  now  finds  himself  com- 
pelled to  dictate  all  his  work  into  a  gramophone.  Mr. 
Mablethorpe  is  seventy-eight  years  of  age,  and  is  still  in 
possession  of  a  fair  proportion  of  his  faculties.  His  eyes 


144  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

used  to  be  grey,  as  Miss  Briggs  (or  was  it  Miss  Waddell  ?) 
surmises  ;  but  he  now  possesses  only  one,  having  lost  the 
other  while  on  a  visit  to  a  Dorcas  Society,  together  with  a 
portion  of  his  scalp.  He  has  been  married  four  times,  and 
possesses  sixty-nine  grandchildren,  reckoning  thirteen  to 
the  dozen.  For  further  details  see  "Who's  Who." 

"That  ought  to  choke  them  off,"  observed  Mr. 
Mablethorpe  with  ^childish  satisfaction,  as  he  fin- 
ished dictating  this  outrageous  document.  "Now, 
what  about  this  grubby  epistle  here?  It  does  not 
smell  so  vilely  as  the  first,  but  I  bet  it  is  from  an- 
other of  the  tribe." 

He  began  to  read :  — 

Dear  Mr.  Mablethorpe 

All  your  books  are  in  our  House  Library  — 

He  broke  off. 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  Philip,"  he  said.  "I  shall 
have  to  write  a  really  shocking  novel  —  something 
unspeakably  awful.  Then  I  shall  be  banned  from 
girls'  schools  for  ever.  My  circulation  will  prob- 
ably go  down  by  ninety  per  cent,  but  it  will  be  well 
worth  it. 

My  name  is  Elsie  Hope,  and  I  love  them  all.  I  have  no 
father  or  mother,  and  I  have  just  read  a  story  of  yours  about 
a  little  girl  who  had  no  father  or  mother  either.  It  made  me 
cry. 

"Snivelling  brat!"  commented  the  unfeeling 
author. 

I  have  not  been  here  very  long,  and  I  do  not  know  many 
of  the  girls  yet,  so  your  books  make  splendid  company.  I 
thought  I  would  like  to  tell  you.  Good-bye. 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  145 

"Gracious!"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe  incredu- 
lously. "She  has  n't  asked  for  my  autograph! 
Hello,  what's  this?" 

He  turned  over  the  page.  The  letter  continued, 
in  a  different  handwriting  —  prim,  correct,  and 
formal :  - 

Elsie  has  gone  to  bed.  I  found  her  writing  this  letter,  and 
she  showed  it  to  me  quite  frankly.  As  the  child  seemed 
really  eager  to  write  to  you,  I  have  undertaken  to  finish  her 
letter  and  explain  the  circumstances.  I  feel  sure  you  will 
understand,  and  pardon  the  liberty.  Do  not  trouble  to  reply. 

Yours  faithfully 

Ellen  Wardale. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  laid  down  the  letter. 

" Ellen  Wardale  is  a  good  sort,"  he  said.  "As  for 
Elsie  Hope,  she  has  not  asked  me  to  write  to  her, 
so  I  shall  do  so.  Now,  Philip,  get  out  "The  Lost 
Legacy,"  and  we  will  have  a  go  at  Chapter  Four- 
teen. It  is  going  to  be  a  difficult  bit.  The  hero,  who 
is  the  greatest  nincompoop  that  I  have  yet  created, 
finds  himself  suspected  by  the  heroine  of  having 
transferred  his  affections  to  another  lady.  (Be- 
tween ourselves,  it  would  have  been  a  very  sensible 
thing  if  he  had  done  so,  but,  of  course,  he  is  incap- 
able of  such  wisdom.)  As  the  story  is  not  half  over, 
we  can't  afford  to  get  him  out  of  the  mess  just  yet ; 
so  this  morning  I  want  him  to  make  an  even  greater 
ass  of  himself  than  before,  and  so  prolong  the  agony 
to  eighty  thousand  words.  Here  goes!" 

After  this  they  would  work  steadily  until  lunch- 
time. 


146  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

ii 

Philip  had  other  duties  to  perform.  He  attended 
to  the  wants  of  Boanerges,  and  in  time  reduced 
that  unreliable  vehicle  to  quite  a  surprising  degree 
of  docility. 

He  became  gradually  infected  with  the  Romance 
of  our  mechanical  age.  He  saw  himself,  a  twen- 
tieth-century Galahad,  roaming  through  the  land 
in  a  hundred-horse-power  armoured  car,  seeking 
adventure,  repelling  his  country's  invaders,  carry- 
ing despatches  under  cover  of  night,  and  conveying 
beauteous  ladies  to  places  of  safety.  He  spent 
much  of  his  spare  time  seated  upon  the  garden  wall, 
watching  for  the  motors  that  whizzed  north  and 
south  along  the  straight  white  road.  (It  is  regret- 
table to  have  to  record  that  many  of  these  disre- 
garded Dumps's  notice-board.)  He  saw  poetry  in 
the  curve  of  a  radiator,  and  heard  music  in  the 
whirring  of  a  clutch. 

One  day,  in  an  expansive  moment,  he  confided 
these  emotions  to  Mr.  Mablethorpe.  That  many- 
sided  man  did  not  laugh,  as  Philip  had  half-feared 
he  would,  but  said:  — 

"Romance  brought  up  the  nine-fifteen  —  eh?  I 
must  introduce  you  to  a  kindred  spirit." 

And  he  led  Philip  to  a  shelf  filled  with  a  row  of 
books.  Some  were  bound  in  dark  blue,  and  con- 
sisted mainly  of  short  stories;  the  others,  smaller 
and  slimmer,  were  dark  red,  and  contained  poetry. 

"There,"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  "are  the  works 
of  the  man  whom  I  regard  as  the  head  of  our  pro- 
fession. Wire  in!" 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  147 

Philip  spent  the  next  three  days  learning  "Mac- 
Andrew's  Hymn  "  by  heart. 

There  were  many  other  books  in  the  library, 
upon  which  Philip  browsed  voraciously.  Uncle 
Joseph's  selection  of  literature  had  been  a  little 
severe,  but  here  was  far  richer  fare.  Philip  discov- 
ered a  writer  called  Robert  Louis  Stevenson,  but 
though  he  followed  his  narratives  breathlessly 
found  him  lacking  in  feminine  interest.  The  works 
of  Jules  Verne  filled  him  with  rapture;  for  their  pe- 
culiar blend  of  high  adventure  and  applied  science 
was  exactly  suited  to  his  temperament.  He  had 
other  more  isolated  favourites  —  "The  Wreck  of 
the  Grosvenor";  "Lorna  Doone";  "The  Prisoner 
of  Zenda";  and  "To  Have  and  to  Hold,"  which 
latter  he  read  straight  through  twice.  But  he 
came  back  again  and  again  to  the  shelf  contain- 
ing the  red  and  blue  volumes,  and  the  magician 
who  dwelt  therein  never  failed  him.  There  were 
two  fascinating  stories  called  "The  Ship  that 
Found  Herself,"  and  "  .007."  After  reading  these 
Philip  ceased  to  regard-  Boanerges  as  a  piece  of 
machinery;  he  endowed  him  with  a  soul  and  a 
sense  of  humour.  There  was  a  moving  tale  of  love 
and  work  called  "William  the  Conqueror";  there 
was  a  palpitating  drama  of  the  sea  called  "Bread 
upon  the  Waters";  and  there  was  one  story  which 
he  read  over  and  over  again  —  it  took  his  thoughts 
back  in  some  hazy  fashion  to  Peggy  Falconer  and 
Hampstead  Heath  —  called  "The  Brushwood 
Boy." 

Only  one  book  upon  this  shelf  failed  to  please 
him.    It  was  a  complete  novel,  and  dealt  with  a 


148  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

love  affair  that  went  wrong  and  never  came  right. 
The  hero,  a  cantankerous  fellow,  became  blind, 
and  the  unfeminine  independent  heroine  never 
knew,  so  went  her  own  way  and  left  him  to  die. 
This  tragic  tale  haunted  Philip's  dreams.  It 
shocked  his  innate  but  unconscious  belief  in  the 
general  tendency  of  things  to  work  together  for 
good.  He  considered  that  the  author  should  have 
compelled  these  two  wrong-headed  people  to 
"make  allowances  for  one  another,"  and  so  come 
together  at  the  last.  He  even  took  the  opinion  of 
Mr.  Mablethorpe  on  the  subject.  Mr.  Mable- 
thorpe  said :  — 

"  His  best  book,  Philip.  But  —  I  read  it  less  than 
any  of  the  others." 

Then  he  introduced  Philip  to  "Brugglesmith," 
and  the  vapours  were  blown  away  by  gusts  of 
laughter. 

in 

Philip's  orthodox  education  was  not  neglected. 
After  a  year's  attendance  as  a  day-boy  at  the  es- 
tablishment near  St.  Albans  he  was  sent  to  Stud- 
ley,  a  great  public  school  in  the  south  of  England. 

Here  many  things  surprised  him. 

Having  spent  most  of  his  life  in  the  company  of 
grown  men,  he  anticipated  some  difficulty  in  rub- 
bing along  with  boys  of  his  own  age.  Master  Philip 
at  this  period  of  his  career  was  surprisingly  grown- 
up: in  fact  he  was  within  a  dangerously  short  dis- 
tance of  becoming  a  prig.  But  he  went  to  school  in 
time.  In  three  weeks  the  latent  instincts  of  boy- 
hood had  fully  developed,  and  Philip  played  Rugby 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  149 

football,  indulged  in  unwholesome  and  clandestine 
cookery,  rioted  noisily  when  he  should  have  been 
quiescent,  and  generally  tumbled  in  and  out  of 
scrapes  as  happily  and  fortuitously  as  if  he  had 
been  born  into  a  vigorous  family  of  ten. 

He  achieved  a  respectable  position  for  himself 
among  his  fellows,  but  upon  a  qualification  which 
would  have  surprised  an  older  generation.  The 
modern  schoolboy  is  essentially  a  product  of  the 
age  he  lives  in,  and  the  gods  he  worships  are  con- 
stantly adding  to  their  number.  Of  what  does  his 
Pantheon  consist?  Foremost,  of  course,  comes  the 
athlete.  He  is  a  genuine  and  permanent  deity.  His 
worshippers  behold  him  every  day,  excelling  at 
football  and  cricket,  lifting  incredible  weights  in 
the  dormitory  before  going  to  bed,  or  running  a 
mile  in  under  five  minutes.  His  qualifications  are 
written  on  his  brow,  and  up  he  goes  to  the  pinnacle 
of  Olympus,  where  he  endures  from  age  to  age. 
Second  comes  the  boy  whose  qualifications  are 
equally  good,  but  have  to  be  accepted  to  a  certain 
extent  upon  hearsay  —  the  sportsman.  A  reputed 
good  shot  or  straight  rider  to  hounds  is  admitted 
to  Olympus  ex  officio,  and  is  greatly  in  request,  in 
the  role  of  Sir  Oracle,  during  those  interminable 
discussions  —  corresponding  to  the  symposia  in 
which  those  of  riper  years  indulge  in  clubs  and 
mess-rooms  —  which  invariably  arise  when  the 
rank  and  file  of  the  House  are  assembled  round  a 
common-room  fire,  in  the  interval,  say,  between 
tea  and  preparation. 

There  are  other  and  lesser  lights.  The  wag,  for 
instance.  The  scholar,  as  such,  has  no  seat  in  the 


150  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

sun.  His  turn  comes  later  in  life,  when  the  athletes 
are  licking  stamps  and  running  errands. 

But  the  Iron  Age  in  which  we  live  has  been  re- 
sponsible for  a  further  addition  to  the  scholastic 
aristocracy  —  the  motor  expert.  A  boy  who  can 
claim  to  have  driven  a  Rolls-Royce  at  fifty  miles 
an  hour  is  accorded  a  place  above  the  salt  by  popu- 
lar acclamation.  No  one  with  any  claim  to  social 
distinction  can  afford  to  admit  ignorance  upon 
such  matters  as  high-tension  magnetos  and  rotary 
valves.  The  humblest  fag  can  tell  at  a  glance 
whether  a  passing  vehicle  is  a  Wolseley  or  a  De- 
launay  Belleville.  Science  masters,  for  years  a  de- 
spised —  or  at  the  best  a  tolerated  —  race,  now 
achieve  a  degree  of  popularity  and  respect  hitherto 
only  attainable  by  Old  Blues,  because  they  under- 
stand induced  currents  and  the  mysteries  of  in- 
ternal combustion.  Most  curious  portent  of  all,  a 
boy  in  the  Lower  School,  who  cannot  be  trusted  to 
work  out  a  sum  in  simple  arithmetic  without  per- 
petrating several  gross  errors,  and  to  whom  physics 
and  chemistry,  as  such,  are  a  sealed  book  entitled 
"Stinks,"  will  solve  in  his  head,  readily  and  cor- 
rectly, such  problems  as  relate  to  petrol-mileage  or 
the  ratio  of  gear-wheels,  and  remedy  quite  readily 
and  skilfully  the  ticklish  troubles  that  arise  from 
faulty  timing- wheels  and  short  circuits. 

It  was  upon  these  qualifications  that  Philip 
originally  obtained  admission  to  the  parliament 
which  perennially  fugged  and  argued  around  the  fire 
on  winter  evenings.  It  was  true  that  he  had  never 
been  fined  for  exceeding  the  speed  limit  in  Hyde 
Park,  like  Ashley  major,  nor  been  run  into  in  the 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  151 

Ripley  Road,  like  Master  Crump;  but  his  technical 
knowledge  was  very  complete  for  a  boy  of  his  age; 
and  being  an  admirable  draughtsman,  he  could 
elucidate  with  paper  and  pencil  mysteries  which 
both  he  and  his  audience  realised  could  not  be  ex- 
plained by  the  English  language. 

In  time,  too,  he  became  a  fair  athlete.  Cricket 
he  hated,  but  he  developed  into  a  sturdy  though 
clumsy  forward  at  football ;  and  his  boxing  showed 
promise.  His  speciality  was  the  strength  of  his 
wrist  and  forearm.  On  gala  nights,  when  the  pre- 
fects had  been  entertaining  a  guest  at  tea,  —  an 
old  boy  or  a  junior  master,  —  Philip,  then  a  lusty 
fag  rising  sixteen,  was  frequently  summoned  before 
the  quality,  to  give  his  celebrated  exhibition  of 
poker-bending. 

Having  discovered  that  the  boys  at  Studley  were 
much  more  grown-up  than  he  had  expected,  Philip 
was  not  altogether  surprised  to  find  that  some  of 
the  masters  were  incredibly  young — not  to  say 
childish.  There  was  Mr.  Brett,  his  Housemaster. 
Mr.  Brett  was  a  typical  product  of  a  great  system 
—  run  to  seed.  British  public  schools  are  very 
rightly  the  glory  of  those  who  understand  them,  but 
they  are  the  despair  of  those  who  do  not.  Gener- 
ally speaking,  they  produce  a  type  of  man  with  no 
special  propensities  and  consequently  no  special 
fads.  He  has  been  educated  on  stereotyped  and 
uncommercial  lines.  He  is  not  a  specialist  in  any 
branch  of  knowledge.  His  critics  say  that  he  is  un- 
fitted for  any  profession;  that  he  cannot  write  a 
business  letter;  that  he  is  frequently  incapable  of 
expressing  himself  in  decent  English.  But  —  pub- 


152  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

lie-school  tradition  has  taught  him  to  run  straight 
and  speak  the  truth.  The  fagging  system  has 
taught  him  to  obey  an  order  promptly.  The  pre- 
(fectorial  system  has  taught  him  to  frame  an  order 
fand  see  that  it  is  carried  out.  Games  have  taught 
him  to  play  for  his  side  and  not  for  himself.  The 
management  of  games  has  instilled  into  him  the 
first  principles  of  organisation  and  responsibility. 
Taking  him  all  round,  he  is  the  very  man  we  want 
to  run  a  half-educated  empire. 

Possibly  these  truths  had  been  known  to  Mr. 
Brett  in  his  early  days.  But,  as  already  stated,  his 
principles  had  run  to  seed.  In  the  vegetable  world, 
—  of  which  schoolmasters  are  dangerously  prone 
to  become  distinguished  members,  —  whenever 
judicious  watering  and  pruning  are  lacking,  time 
operates  in  one  of  two  ways.  A  plant  either  withers 
and  wilts,  or  it  shoots  up  into  a  monstrous  and  un- 
sightly growth.  In  Mr.  Brett's  intellectual  arbor- 
etum every  shrub  had  wilted  save  two  —  Classics 
and  cricket.  These  twain,  admirable  in  modera- 
tion, had  grown  up  like  mustard  trees,  and  now 
overshadowed  the  whole  of  Mr.  Brett's  mental  out- 
look. In  his  House  he  devoted  his  ripe  scholarship 
and  untiring  care  exclusively  to  boys  who  were 
likely  to  do  well  in  the  Sixth:  his  mathematicians 
and  scientists  were  left  to  look  after  themselves. 
French  and  German  he  openly  described  as  "a  sop 
to  the  parental  Cerberus."  His  Modern-Side  boys 
forgave  the  slight  freely  —  in  fact,  they  preferred 
it;  and  their  heavily  supervised  classical  brethren 
envied  them  their  freedom.  But  cricket  was  a  dif- 
ferent matter.  Mr.  Brett  had  probably  begun  by 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  153 

regarding  Classics  as  the  greatest  intellectual,  and 
cricket  as  the  greatest  moral,  stimulus  in  the 
schoolboy  world  —  a  common,  and,  on  the  whole, 
perfectly  tenable,  attitude  of  mind.  But  by  the 
time  that  Philip  came  under  his  charge  it  is  greatly 
to  be  feared  that  he  regarded  both  as  nothing  more 
than  a  means  to  an  end  —  Classics  as  an  avenue  to 
Scholarships  and  House  advertisement,  cricket  as 
an  admirable  instrument  wherewith  to  lacerate  the 
feelings  of  other  Housemasters. 

Cricket  was  rather  overdone  at  Studley  in  those 
days.  There  were  cricket  leagues  and  cricket  cups 
innumerable.  Play  was  organised  exactly  like 
work:  the  control  of  their  pastimes  was  taken  from 
the  hands  of  the  boys  themselves  and  put  into  the 
hands  of  blindly  enthusiastic  masters.  Masters 
flocked  on  to  the  field  every  afternoon  and  bowled 
remorselessly  at  every  net.  Healthy  young  bar- 
barians who  did  not  happen  to  possess  any  aptitude 
for  cricket,  and  whose  only  enjoyment  of  the  game 
lay  in  the  long  handle  and  blind  swiping,  were  com- 
pelled to  spend  their  allotted  ten  minutes  standing 
in  an  attitude  which  made  it  impossible  for  them  to 
slog  the  ball,  listening  giddily  the  while  to  impas- 
sioned harangues  upon  the  subject  of  playing  for- 
ward and  keeping  a  straight  bat.  Cricket,  thus 
highly  officialized,  soon  began  to  be  accepted  by 
the  boys  as  a  mere  extension  of  school  routine;  and 
being  turned  from  play  to  work  was  treated  by 
them  as  they  treated  Caesar  and  Euclid  —  that  is 
to  say,  they  did  just  as  much  as  they  were  com- 
pelled to  do  and  no  more.  But  their  enthusiastic 
preceptors  took  no  account  of  this.  They  glowed 


154  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

internally  to  think  how  unselfishly  they  were  de- 
voting their  spare  time  to  improving  the  standard 
of  school  cricket, — as,  indeed,  they  were, — and 
cementing  the  entente  cordiale  between  master  and 
boy, — as  most  assuredly  they  were  not.  It  did  not 
occur  to  them  that  it  is  possible  to  have  too  much 
of  a  good  thing.  Nine  boys  out  of  ten  would  have 
been  grateful  enough  for  half  an  hour's  coaching  a 
week;  but  to  be  compelled  to  spend  every  after- 
noon repressing  one's  natural  instincts,  debarred, 
by  that  unwritten  law  which  decrees  that  no  boy 
may  address  his  fellows  with  any  degree  of  famil- 
iarity in  the  presence  of  a  master,  from  exchanging 
the  joyous  but  primitive  repartees  and  impromptus 
of  the  young,  struck  the  most  docile  Studleian  as 
"a  bit  too  thick." 

Worse  still,  these  excellent  men  quarrelled 
among  themselves  as  to  the  respective  merits  of 
their  pupils.  Many  a  humble  fag,  contentedly  sup- 
ping off  sweet  biscuits  and  contraband  sardines  in 
the  privacy  of  his  study,  would  have  been  amazed 
(and  greatly  embarrassed)  if  he  had  known  that  his 
merits  as  a  leg-break  bowler  were  being  maintained 
or  denied  with  the  utmost  vehemence  over  Com- 
mon Room  port  by  two  overheated  graduates  of 
Oxford  University.  Housemasters  plotted  and 
schemed  to  have  the  dates  of  matches  put  forward 
or  set  back,  in  order  that  some  star  performer  of 
their  own,  at  present  in  the  sick-house  or  away 
at  a  funeral,  might  be  enabled  to  return  in  time 
to  take  part  in  the  fray.  Elderly  gentlemen  who 
ought  to  have  known  better  rose  straight  from 
their  knees  after  evening  prayers  and  besought 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  155 

their  pupils  to  make  runs  for  the  honour  of  the 
House. 

Into  this  strange  vortex  the  unsuspecting  Philip 
found  himself  whirled.  His  first  term  was  compar- 
atively normal.  He  went  to  Studley  in  January, 
and  being,  as  already  recorded,  a  healthy  young 
animal,  soon  found  his  place  among  his  fellows.  Of 
Mr.  Brett  he  could  make  little  or  nothing.  He  was 
by  reason  of  his  training  in  many  ways  a  grown-up 
boy.  There  were  times  when  the  cackle  of  the 
House  Common  Room  bored  him,  at  which  he 
would  have  enjoyed  a  few  minutes'  conversation 
with  an  older  man  —  say  upon  the  morning's  news, 
or  some  book  recently  disinterred  from  the  top 
shelf  of  the  House  library.  But  intercourse  with 
his  Housemaster  was  not  for  him.  Mr.  Brett,  find- 
ing that  Philip  knew  little  Latin  and  no  Greek,  had 
dismissed  him  abruptly  to  the  Modern  Side,  as  one 
of  that  noxious  but  necessary  band  of  pariahs 
whose  tainted  but  necessary  contributions  make  it 
possible  for  the  elect  to  continue  the  pursuit  of 
Classics.  As  for  Philip's  football  promise,  it  was 
nothing  to  Mr.  Brett.  This  most  consistent  of  men 
considered  the  worship  of  football  "a  fetish." 

All  hope  of  further  intimacy  between  this  antagon- 
istic pair  ended  during  the  following  summer  term, 
when  to  Philip's  unutterable  amazement,  Mr.  Brett 
declined  to  speak  to  him  for  the  space  of  three  days, 
because  Philip,  by  inadvertently  running  out  the 
most  promising  batsman  on  his  side  in  the  course 
of  a  Junior  House  League  match,  had  deprived  Mr. 
Brett  of  a  possible  two  points  out  of  the  total  neces- 
sary to  secure  the  Junior  House  Cricket  Cup.  The 


156          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

incident  did  not  disturb  Philip's  peace  of  mind  to 
any  extent.  It  merely  crystallised  his  opinion  of 
his  Housemaster.  He  possessed  a  large  measure  of 
his  uncle's  gift  of  terse  summarisation  of  character. 

"This  chap,"  he  observed  to  himself,  "is  the 
most  almighty  and  unutterable  sweep  in  the  schol- 
astic profession,  besides  being  a  silly  baby.  I  must 
turn  him  down,  that's  all." 

Henceforward  Philip  went  his  own  way.  He  met 
his  Housemaster  but  seldom,  for  he  was  naturally 
excluded  from  such  unofficial  hospitalities  as  Sun- 
day breakfasts  and  half -holiday  teas.  Neither  did 
the  two  come  into  official  collision,  for  Philip  was 
a  glutton  for  work  and  reached  the  top  of  the  Mod- 
ern Side  by  giant  strides.  The  only  direct  result  of 
their  strained  relations  was  that  Philip  was  not 
made  a  prefect  when  the  time  came.  Mr.  Brett 
could  not  reconcile  his  conscience  to  placing  in  a 
position  of  authority  a  boy  who  was  neither  in 
Classic  nor  a  cricketer,  who  was  lacking  in  esprit- 
de-corps,  and  made  a  fetish  of  football  and  science. 

But  Philip  was  contented  enough.  True,  he 
could  not  take  his  meals  at  the  high  table,  neither 
could  he  set  fags  running  errands  for  him,  but  he 
possessed  resources  denied  to  most  boys.  He  be- 
came the  devoted  disciple  of  one  of  the  junior  Sci- 
ence masters,  Mr.  Eden,  who,  almost  delirious  with 
joy  at  having  discovered  a  boy  who  loved  Science 
for  its  own  sake  and  not  merely  because  the  pur- 
suit thereof  excused  him  from  Latin  Verse,  took 
Philip  to  his  bosom.  Under  his  direction  Philip 
read  widely  and  judiciously,  and  was  permitted  in 
fulness  of  time  to  embark  upon  "  research  work  " — 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  157 

that  is,  to  potter  about  the  laboratory  during  his 
spare  hours  and  make  himself  familiar^with  the  use 
and  manipulation  of  every  piece  of  apparatus  that 
he  encountered. 

He  had  his  friends  in  the  House,  too.  There  was 
Desborough,  a  big  lazy  member  of  the  Fifth,  the 
son  of  an  Irish  baronet,  much  more  interested  in 
sport  than  games,  though  he  was  a  passable  enough 
athlete.  Desborough  disliked  the  rigidity  of  Mr. 
Brett's  regime,  and  pined  occasionally  for  the  spa- 
cious freedom  of  his  country  home,  with  its  dogs 
and  guns  by  day,  and  bridge  and  billiards  in  the 
evening.  Then  there  was  Laird,  a  Scot  of  Scots, 
much  too  deeply  interested  hi  the  question  o{  his 
future  career  as  a  Cabinet  Minister  to  suffer  com- 
pulsory games  and  unprofitable  conversation  with 
any  degree  of  gladness.  And  there  was  Lemaire, 
the  intellectual  giant  of  the  House,  who,  though 
high  up  in  the  Sixth,  was  considered  by  Mr.  Brett 
to  have  forfeited  all  right  to  a  position  of  authority 
among  his  fellows  by  having  been  born  into  the 
world  with  a  club  foot.  But  though  he  could  play 
no  games,  Lemaire  exacted  more  respect  and  con- 
sideration from  the  House  than  Mr.  Brett  dreamed 
of,  for  he  possessed  a  quick  wit  and  a  blistering 
tongue. 

It  was  with  these  three  that  Philip  foregathered 
during  his  later  years  at  school.  The  Quartette,  as 
they  were  called,  resembled  second-year  under- 
graduates rather  than  third-year  schoolboys  in 
their  attitude  to  life  and  then*  methods  of  recrea- 
tion. Being  endowed  with  no  authority  they  es- 
caped the  obsession  of  responsibility  which  lies  so 


158  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

heavily  upon  the  shoulders  of  youthful  officialdom, 
and  they  conformed  to  the  rules  of  the  House  and 
School  with  indulgent  tolerance,  observing  the 
spirit  rather  than  the  letter  of  the  law.  Which  was 
just  as  well,  for  boys  hi  their  position  could  have 
done  incalculable  harm  had  they  felt  so  disposed. 
The  prefects  were  secretly  afraid  of  them,  and  left 
them  to  themselves.  The  House  as  a  whole  ven- 
erated them,  especially  Philip  and  Desborough, 
and  would  gladly  have  been  admitted  to  greater 
intimacy.  But  the  Quartette  would  have  none 
of  them.  They  preferred  to  hold  aloof  from  the 
turbulent  camaraderie  of  the  Common  Room  and 
congregate  in  one  or  other  of  their  studies,  where 
it  was  rumoured  that  they  talked  politics. 

But  rumour  was  wrong,  or  at  any  rate  only 
partially  in  possession  of  the  facts,  as  you  shall 
hear. 

IV 

The  Studley  masters  were  not  a  particularly 
gregarious  body.  The  Head  lived  in  secluded  state 
with  his  wife  and  four  daughters  in  his  official  resi- 
dence on  the  north  side  of  the  Close,  emerging  peri- 
odically to  overawe  the  Sixth,  preach  in  Chapel,  or 
discharge  a  thunderbolt  in  Big  School.  The  House- 
masters dwelt  severally  in  their  own  strongholds, 
thanking  Heaven  that  their  Houses  were  not  as 
other  Houses  were;  and  the  Junior  Staff  lived 
roundabout,  in  cottages  and  chummeries  and  snug- 
geries, throughout  Studley  Village. 

But  once  a  week  the  whole  hierarchy  foregath- 
ered in  the  Masters'  Common  Room  and  dined 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  159 

together.  Usually  the  Head  presided  in  person; 
and  from  the  soup  to  the  savoury  every  soul  pres- 
ent talked  shop. 

Schoolmasters  appear  to  be  quite  unique  in  this 
respect.  For  three  months  on  end  they  live  in  ever- 
lasting contact  with  boys.  Sleepy  boys  confront 
them  in  those  grisly  hours  of  school  which  occur 
before  breakfast.  Restless  and  inattentive  boys 
occupy  their  undivided  attention  from  breakfast 
until  luncheon.  In  the  afternoon  they  play  games 
with,  or  watch  games  played  by,  energetic  and 
overheated  boys.  From  four  o'clock  till  six  they 
stimulate  the  flagging  energies  of  boys  who  are 
comfortably  tired  and  inclined  to  be  drowsy.  In 
their  spare  time  they  lavish  individual  pains  upon 
backward  boys,  or  castigate  sinful  boys,  or  frater- 
nise with  friendly  boys,  or  comfort  unhappy  boys. 
At  the  very  end  of  the  day  they  pray  with  and  for 
all  the  boys  together. 

A  man  who  has  never  been  a  schoolmaster  might 
be  excused  for  supposing  that  when  this  overdriven 
band  desisted  from  their  labours  and  sat  down  to 
their  evening  meal,  they  would  turn  with  a  sigh  of 
relief  to  some  extraneous  and  irrelevant  topic  — 
politics;  literature;  sport;  scandal,  even.  But  no  - 
they  never  talk  of  anything  but  boys  —  boys' 
work,  boys'  games,  boys'  pranks,  boys'  crimes, 
boys'  prospects.  They  bore  one  another  intensely, 
these  excellent  men;  for  just  as  no  young  mother 
ever  desires  to  hear  of  or  talk  about  the  achieve- 
ments of  any  other  baby  than  her  own,  so  no  keen 
cricketing  coach  will  listen  with  anything  but  im- 
patience to  glowing  accounts  of  his  next-door 


160  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

neighbour's  proteges.   But  they  never  desist.   The 
shop  varies,  but  boy  is  the  only  theme. 

This  weakness  is  not  confined  to  schoolmasters, 
of  course.  All  bodies  of  men  of  the  same  calling 
herded  together  for  protracted  periods  of  time  are 
inclined  to  the  habit,  but  most  of  them  take  elabo- 
rate precautions  to  eradicate  it.  In  military  and 
naval  circles,  for  instance,  certain  subjects  are  tabu. 
Even  undergraduates  mulct  one  another  in  pots  of 
beer  if  the  line  be  crossed.  But  schoolmasters  are 
incorrigible.  They  talk  boy  and  nothing  else.  The 
explanation  is  simple.  Boys  are  the  most  interesting 
things  in  the  world. 

Studley  Senior  Common  Room  was  no  excep- 
tion. At  the  top  of  the  table  the  Head  and  his 
senior  colleagues  discussed  high-school  politics  — 
scholarships,  roseola,  and  the  latest  eccentricity  of 
the  Governing  Body.  About  the  middle  of  the 
table,  where  housemasters  and  form-masters  were 
intermingled,  a  housemaster  would  explain  to  a 
form-master,  with  studious  moderation  and  pater- 
nal solemnity,  that  owing  to  the  incompetence, 
prejudice,  and  spite  of  the  form-master  a  certain 
godly  and  virtuous  youth  named  Jinks  tertius  was 
making  no  progress  in  his  studies,  and  was,  more- 
over, acutely  depressed  by  the  injustice  with  which 
he  was  being  borne  down.  In  reply  to  this  the 
form-master  would  point  out  in  the  most  courteous 
and  conciliatory  tones,  that  the  said  Jinks  was  an 
idle  young  scoundrel,  and  that  until  the  house- 
master abandoned  his  present  short-sighted  and 
officious  policy  of  habitually  intervening  between 
Jinks  and  his  deserts,  —  to  wit,  the  rod,  —  no 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  161 

further  progress  could  possibly  be  expected.  Why 
could  n't  housemasters  back  form-masters  up  a 
bit?  And  so  on.  Lower  down  the  table,  three 
single-minded  partisans  were  hotly  disputing  as  to 
whether,  upon  a  given  date  last  summer,  in  a  given 
junior  inter-form  cricket  match,  one  Maggs  (of  the 
Lower  Remove)  did  or  did  not  feloniously  give  one 
Baggs  (of  the  Upper  Fourth)  out  leg-before-wicket 
at  the  instigation  of  a  muscular  bowler  named 
Craggs.  The  only  two  persons  at  the  table  who  were 
not  talking  boy  were  Mr.  Chigley  and  Mr.  Cleeve. 
Mr.  Chigley,  between  mouthfuls,  complained  bit- 
terly and  unceasingly  of  the  food;  while  Mr.  Cleeve 
remorselessly  conducted  an  inattentive  audience, 
hole  by  hole,  step  by  step,  stroke  by  stroke,  through 
the  intricacies  of  a  battle  fought  by  himself  against 
apparently  incredible  odds  that  afternoon  —  and 
of  a  victory  snatched  away  on  the  last  green,  seem- 
ingly by  the  sudden  and  officious  intervention  of 
Providence,  after  what  must  have  been  one  of  the 
worst  and  most  uninteresting  exhibitions  of  golf 
ever  seen. 

Dinner  ended,  the  company  dispersed  abruptly, 
summoned  back  from  refreshment  to  the  never- 
ending  labours  of  the  schoolmaster,  by  House- 
prayers,  scholarship  coaching,  or  the  necessity  of 
administering  justice.  Mr.  Brett  and  two  other 
housemasters  were  invited  by  the  Head  to  a  rub- 
ber of  bridge. 

"By  the  way,"  observed  the  great  man  as  they 
cut  for  partners,  "you  fellows  must  really  see  that 
your  boys  wear  greatcoats  on  their  way  up  to  and 
down  from  football.  Last  Saturday  I  noticed  four 


162  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

or  five  young  idiots,  in  a  most  overheated  condi- 
tion, standing  about  on  Big  Side  watching  the 
Fifteen  without  so  much  as  a  sweater  among  them. 
It  nearly  gave  me  pneumonia  to  look  at  them.  You 
and  I,  I  think,  Brett.  We  have  choice  of  seats." 

"I  think  I  will  sit  away  from  the  fire,"  said  Mr. 
Brett.  "My  deal,  I  think.  Will  you  cut  to  me, 
Hay  dock?  Personally,  I  never  permit  any  boy  in 
my  House  to  go  up  to  the  playing-fields  without  his 
greatcoat.  Hearts!" 

"My  feeling  in  the  matter,"  said  Mr.  Allnutt,  on 
Brett's  left,  "has  been,  and  always  will  be,  that  we 
coddle  boys  a  great  deal  too  much.  In  my  young 
days  at  - 

"Hearts!"  repeated  Mr.  Brett  loudly. 

"In  my  young  days  at  Chiddleham,"  pursued 
Mr.  Allnutt,  quite  unruffled,  "sweaters  had  not 
been  invented,  and"  —  he  threw  out  his  chest 
proudly  —  "we  were  none  of  us  a  penny  the  worse. 
Shall  I  play  to  a  heart,  partner?" 

"If  you  please,"  said  Mr.  Haydock  patiently. 

Mr.  Brett  played  the  hand  and  won  the  odd  trick. 

"The  nuisance  about  occasional  apparel,  such 
as  a  greatcoat,"  said  Mr.  Haydock,  gathering  up 
the  cards,  "is  that  a  boy  wears  his  some  wet  morn- 
ing up  to  school,  and  at  the  end  of  the  hour,  finding 
that  the  sun  is  shining  and  being  a  forgetful  animal, 
comes  down  without  it.  Net  result  —  a  greatcoat 
kicking  about  in  a  passage  till  it  is  lost  or  appro- 
priated. Your  deal,  partner." 

"It  is  merely  a  matter  of  taking  a  little  trouble," 
said  Mr.  Brett  precisely.  "Once  boys  have  been 
taught  to  grasp  the  fact  that  rules  are  made  to  be 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  163 

obeyed  and  not  ignored,  the  thing  is  simple.  My 
House  - 

"Partner,  I  leave  it  to  you,"  said  Mr.  Allnutt, 
fortissimo. 

"No  trumps!"  said  Mr.  Haydock. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  Brett,"  observed  the  Head, 
as  the  dummy  was  laid  down, — he  was  a  genial 
despot,  and  Mr.  Brett's  pedantic  fussiness  was  a 
perpetual  thorn  in  his  flesh,  —  "the  boys  I  saw  on 
Saturday  were  yours." 

Mr.  Allnutt ,  laughed  loudly,  and  Mr.  Brett, 
greatly  put  out,  omitted  to  return  the  Head's  lead, 
with  the  result  that  his  opponents  made  four  odd 
tricks. 

"Game!"  announced  Mr.  Allnutt,  quite  super- 
fluously. "Thank  you,  partner.  Pretty  work!" 

"It  was  a  pity  you  did  not  return  my  diamond, 
Brett,"  remarked  the  Head  mildly.  He  was  counted 
one  of  the  great  Headmasters  of  his  time,  but  he 
was  as  human  as  the  rest  of  us  where  lost  tricks 
were  concerned.  "I  had  the  game  in  my  hand." 

Mr.  Brett  stiffly  expressed  regret,  and  continued : 

"Would  you  mind  giving  me  the  names  of  the 
boys  you  saw?  I  simply  can't  understand  it.  I 
think  there  must  be  some  mistake.  No  boy  in  my 
House  — 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  said  Haydock,  —  he  was 
the  acknowledged  peacemaker  and  mediator  of  the 
Staff,  —  "it  is  very  difficult  to  get  boys  to  wear 
their  greatcoats.  I  can't  help  sympathising  with 
them.  They  usually  don't  require  them  at  all,  for 
they  run  straight  up  to  their  game  and  straight 
down  again.  But  when,  as  sometimes  happens, 


164  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

they  find  an  exciting  match  going  on  on  Big  Side, 
they  can't  resist  the  temptation  of  waiting  for  a 
minute  or  two  — 

Mr.  Allnutt  interrupted.  Listening  to  other  peo- 
ple was  not  a  foible  of  his. 

"Nonsense!"  he  said  with  great  gusto,  as  the 
Head  began  to  deal  the  next  hand.  •  "You  can't 
tether  healthy  boys  with  red  tape.  Always  disre- 
gard red  tape  —  that 's  my  motto ! "  (By  red  tape 
Mr.  Allnutt  meant  instructions  from  headquarters 
which  did  not  happen  to  meet  with  his  approval.) 
"Now,  my  boys  - 

"Spades!"  said  the  Head,  gloomily. 

"Shall  I  play  to  a  spade,  partner?"  asked  Mr. 
Haydock. 

"Certainly,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  said  Mr. 
Allnutt.  "Glad  to  be  out  of  it!" 

Mr.  Brett,  whose  hand  contained  four  aces, 
flung  his  cards  upon  the  table  and  glared  at  his 
superior. 

"Very  sorry,  Brett,"  said  the  Head,  "but  it  had 
to  be  done.  I  had  nothing  above  a  nine  in  my  hand. 
I  was  afraid  they  would  double  anything  you  de- 
clared. My  cut,  I  think,  Haydock." 

For  the  next  ten  minutes,  fortunately,  Mr.  Brett 
was  too  much  chagrined  to  speak,  and  the  topic  of 
the  overcoats  was  allowed  to  drop. 

The  game  continued  for  another  few  rounds,  with 
the  luck  fairly  evenly  divided  and  the  scoring  low. 
Presently  the  Head,  who  usually  contrived  to 
achieve  a  good  deal  of  quiet  legislation  during  these 
social  evenings,  remarked :  — 

"We  shall  have  to  create  three  new  School  mon- 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  165 

itors  at  the  end  of  the  term.  Have  you  any  candi- 
dates, Allnutt?" 

"You  can  select  any  boy  in  my  House  you  like," 
replied  Allnutt.  He  was  habitually  truculent  to 
those  set  in  authority  over  him,  —  he  regarded 
them  as  a  humanised  form  of  red  tape,  —  but  the 
shrewd  Head,  who  knew  that  Allnutt  was  a  good 
man  at  bottom,  suffered  him  with  humourous  resig- 
nation. "They  are  all  equally  incompetent.  Luck- 
ily I  am  in  the  habit  of  looking  after  my  House 
myself,  and  not  leaving  it  to  half-baked  police- 
men." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  Head.  "That  leaves  me 
with  a  comfortably  free  hand.  Have  you  any  one 
to  recommend,  Brett?" 

"Yes,"  said  Brett.  "I  have.  I  have  considered 
the  matter  most  carefully.  I  have  at  least  four 
boys  who  would  make  admirable  monitors  — ' 

"Game  all!"  said  Mr.  Allnutt  impatiently. 
"Your  deal,  Brett." 

-  "And  I  have  decided,"  continued  Mr.  Brett, 
bending  his  brows  judicially,  "to  recommend 
Ericson  and  Smythe." 

"Nincompoops,  both  of  them,"  observed  Mr. 
Allnutt  at  once. 

"  I  fancy  Brett  was  addressing  the  Headmaster," 
said  Hay  dock  drily. 

"Oh,  this  is  quite  an  informal  discussion,"  said 
Mr.  Allnutt  cheerfully.  "The  best  boys  in  your 
House,  Brett,  are  Meldrum  and  Lemaire.  Why 
don't  you  recommend  them?" 

With  a  great  effort  Mr.  Brett  kept  his  temper. 

"They  do  not  happen  to  be  House  prefects,"  he 


166  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

replied  stiffly,   "and  are  therefore  ineligible  for 
monitor  ships." 

Much  to  Mr.  Brett's  discomfiture,  all  three  of  his 
companions  turned  and  gazed  at  him  in  undisguised 
astonishment. 

"Why,  man,"  burst  out  Mr.  Allnutt,  "Lemaire 
is  the  most  brilliant  boy  in  the  School ! " 

"His  bodily  infirmity"  —  began  Mr.  Brett 
majestically. 

"I  see,  I  see,"  said  Allnutt.  "Bodily  infirmity  is 
a  bar  to  promotion  in  your  House;  but  not  mental 
infirmity  —  eh?  I  suppose  you  have  noticed  that 
Ericson  is  a  congenital  idiot?" 

Mr.  Brett,  pursing  his  lips,  began  to  deal  the 
cards  with  great  stateliness. 

"And  what  about  Meldrum?"  continued  Mr. 
Allnutt,  following  up  his  attack.  "He  has  more 
character  than  all  the  rest  of  your  House  put  to- 
gether." 

"Unfortunately,"  replied  Mr.  Brett  icily,  "he 
has  no  brains." 

Here  Mr.  Brett  made  a  serious  blunder.  He 
offended  the  only  man  in  the  room  who  might  have 
felt  inclined  to  protect  him  from  the  bludgeonings 
of  Mr.  Allnutt.  Mr.  Haydock  happened  to  be 
senior  mathematical  master  at  Studley,  and  like 
all  broad-minded  men  hated  anything  like  intel- 
lectual snobbery. 

"Meldrum,"  he  remarked,  "is  the  soundest 
mathematician  in  the  School,  and  quite  the  most 
brilliant  scientist  we  have  had  for  ten  years." 

"Possibly,  possibly,"  said  Mr.  Brett;  "but  that 
does  not  affect  my  point.  No  trumps!" 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  167 

Mr.  Hay  dock  flushed  red  at  this  gratuitous  piece 
of  offensiveness.  But  he  said  nothing,  and  took  up 
his  cards. 

"Shall  I  play  to  no  trumps,  partner?"  enquired 
Mr.  Allnutt. 

Mr.  Hay  dock  glanced  over  his  hand,  and  sighed 
to  himself,  softly  and  gratefully. 

"I  shall  double  no  trumps,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Brett  grew  greatly  excited. 

"I  shall  redouble!"  he  exclaimed. 

"And  I,"  replied  Mr.  Haydock  gently,  "shall 
double  again. 

The  Head,  upon  whom  the  asperities  of  the  last 
ten  minutes  (since  he  might  not  take  part  therein 
himself)  had  begun  to  pall,  sat  up,  startled,  and  the 
game  began  —  at  ninety-six  points  a  trick. 

Mr.  Brett's  hand  contained  eight  spades,  to  the 
ten,  knave,  queen,  king;  the  aces  of  clubs,  hearts, 
and  diamonds ;  and  two  small  clubs.  It  was  a  tempt- 
ing but  treacherous  hand,  for  singleton  aces  are  but 
broken  reeds. 

Mr.  Haydock  had  nine  hearts  to  the  knave, 
queen,  king;  the  ace  of  spades;  and  the  king  of 
clubs,  singly  guarded.  His  hope  of  salvation  was 
founded  on  the  sure  and  certain  knowledge  that  Mr. 
Allnutt  would  lead  him  a  heart,  for  they  conformed 
to  the  heart  convention.  Assuming  that  Mr.  Brett 
held  the  ace,  the  hearts  could  be  established  in  a 
single  round.  After  this  he  looked  to  his  ace  of 
spades  or  king  of  clubs  to  regain  the  lead  for  him. 
Of  course  if  Brett  held  an  overwhelming  hand  of 
diamonds  the  game  was  lost.  There  was  also  the 
possibility  that  Allnutt  had  no  heart  to  lead.  But 


168  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

there  seemed  to  be  a  good  sporting  chance  of  suc- 
cess. 

And  sure  enough  the  Fates  —  very  justly,  con- 
sidering his  recent  behaviour  to  Mr.  Haydock  — • 
fought  against  Mr.  Brett.  Mr.  Allnutt  led  a  small 
heart;  the  Head,  with  a  rueful  smile,  laid  down  a 
hand  containing  two  knaves  and  a  ten;  Mr.  Hay- 
dock  played  the  king;  and  Mr.  Brett,  having 
nothing  else,  took  the  trick  with  the  ace. 

Then  Mr.  Brett,  scrutinising  his  hand  and  put- 
ting two  and  two  together,  broke  into  a  gentle  per- 
spiration. 

The  ace  of  spades  —  the  one  card  necessary  to 
give  him  every  trick  but  two  —  was  in  the  hands 
of  the  enemy.  Still,  eight  spades  to  the  ten,  knave, 
queen,  king,  mean  seven  tricks  once  you  have 
forced  the  ace  out.  Hoping  blindly  for  the  best, 
and  pretending  not  to  hear  the  contented  rum- 
blings of  Mr.  Allnutt,  the  wretched  Mr.  Brett 
played  the  ten  of  spades.- 

Mr.  Haydock  promptly  took  the  trick  with  the 
ace,  and  then  proceeded  to  make  eight  tricks  in 
hearts.  After  this  he  graciously  permitted  Mr.  Brett 
to  make  his  other  two  aces  and  remaining  spade. 

"Three  tricks,"  said  Mr.  Haydock.  "Game  and 
rubber." 

"Hard  luck,  partner,"  murmured  the  Head 
heroically. 

"What  exactly,"  enquired  Mr.  Allnutt,  brim- 
ming over  with  happy  laughter,  "does  three  times 
ninety-six  come  to?  Two  hundred  and  eighty -eight? 
Thanks.  What  a  lightning  calculator  you  are,  Hay- 
dock.  A  mathematician  has  his  points — eh,  Brett?  '* 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  169 


It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock.  Most  of  the  boys  were 
in  their  dormitories  by  this  time,  either  in  bed  or 
cultivating  the  rites  of  Mr.  Sandow.  Only  the 
seniors  lingered  downstairs.  Various  young  gentle- 
men who  shortly  meditated  a  descent  upon  one  of 
the  Universities  sat  in  their  studies  with  curtains 
closely  drawn,  painfully  translating  a  Greek  not 
spoken  in  Greece  into  an  English  not  spoken  any- 
where. The  Quartette  were  all  together  in  Philip's 
study,  engaged  in  one  of  the  commonest  recrea- 
tions of  English  gentlemen. 

Presently  Desborough  uncoiled  his  long  legs 
from  under  the  table,  and  stretched  himself. 

"Fairly  average  frowst  in  here,"  he  observed. 
"Anybody  mind  if  I  open  the  window?" 

Silence  gave  consent.  The  curtains  slid  back, 
and  some  much-needed  oxygen  was  admitted.  A 
long  ray  of  light  shot  out  into  the  darkness  of  the 
night. 

It  fell  across  the  path  of  Mr.  Brett,  returning 
from  his  bridge  party.  The  evening  breezes  played 
about  his  brow,  but  failed  to  cool  it.  He  was  in  a 
towering  rage.  His  management  of  his  own  House; 
his  powers  of  selecting  suitable  lieutenants;  these 
things  had  been  called  into  question  that  night  - 
called  into  question  and  condemned.  And  —  he 
had  lost  five-and-sixpence  to  Allnutt. 

Suddenly  his  homeward  way  was  illumined  by 
electric  light.  It  came  from  the  window  of  Philip 
Meldrum's  study,  which  was  situated  upon  the 
ground  floor.  Mr.  Brett  paused,  drew  near,  and 


170  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

surveyed  the  scene  within.  In  the  confined  space  of 
the  study  he  beheld  four  boys  sitting  closely  round 
a  table. 

A  minute  later  he  was  fumbling  for  his  latchkey 
at  his  own  front  door.  He  was  in  a  frenzy  of  excite- 
ment. He  did  not  pause  to  reflect.  Humour  was 
not  his  strong  point,  or  it  might  possibly  have 
occurred  to  him  that  the  present  situation  pos- 
sessed a  certain  piquancy  of  its  own.  Had  Mr.  All- 
nut  been  present  he  would  have  made  an  apposite 
reference  to  the  Old  Obadiah  and  the  Young  Oba- 
diah.  All  that  Mr.  Brett  realised  was  the  fact  that 
Providence  had  most  unexpectedly  put  into  his 
hand  the  means  of  vindicating  his  own  infallibility 
as  a  judge  of  boy  character,  and  —  of  scoring  off 
Allnutt  for  all  time. 

With  eager  steps  he  passed  through  his  own  quar- 
ters, and  hurried  down  the  long  panelled  corridor 
in  which  the  boys'  studies  were  situated.  He  opened 
Philip's  door  quickly,  without  knocking,  and  stood 
glaring  balefully  through  his  spectacles  upon  the 
culprits. 

Their  heads  were  sunk  upon  their  chests,  but 
not  with  shame.  In  fact  they  entirely  failed  to 
observe  Mr.  Brett's  avenging  presence. 

The  first  person  to  speak  was  Philip,  who  was 
sitting  with  his  back  to  the  door.  He  threw  his 
cards  down  upon  the  table  and  said  cheerfully :  — 

"Well  done,  partner!   Three  tricks,  doubled - 
that's  seventy-two.    Game  and  rubber,  and  you 
owe  me  f ourpence,  young  Laird  of  Cockpen !  Now, 
what  about  bed?" 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  171 

VI 

No  one  was  expelled,  though  in  the  first  frenzy 
of  his  triumph  Mr.  Brett  was  for  telephoning  for 
four  cabs  on  the  spot. 

The  Head  gave  judgment  in  due  course,  and 
though  he  had  no  particular  difficulty  in  dealing 
with  the  criminals,  he  experienced  some  trouble  in 
handling  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution. 

To  him  the  overheated  Brett  pointed  out  that 
the  delinquents  had  been  caught  redhanded  in  the 
sin  of  betting  and  gambling.  He  explained  that 
smoking,  drinking,  and  cards  invariably  went 
together,  and  that  consequently  nothing  remained 
but  to  request  the  respective  parents  and  guard- 
ians of  the  Quartette  to  remove  them  with  all 
possible  despatch  before  they  cdntaminated  any 
of  the  Classics  or  Cricketers  in  the  House. 

The  Head  heard  him  out,  and  remarked  drily :  — 

"  Mr.  Brett,  you  should  cultivate  a  sense  of  pro- 
portion. It  is  a  useful  quality  in  a  schoolmaster. 
Your  scheme  of  retribution,  if  I  may  say  so,  is  a 
little  lacking  in  elasticity.  There  are  degrees  of 
crime,  you  know.  Under  your  penal  code  the  man 
who  has  been  caught  playing  pitch-and-toss  is 
hurried  to  the  gallows  with  the  same  celerity  as  the 
man  who  has  garotted  an  Archbishop.  Don't  you 
think  that  this  scheme  of  yours  of  uniform  penalty 
for  everything  rather  encourages  the  criminal  to  go 
the  whole  hog  and  have  his  money's  worth?  Now 
observe:  the  offence  of  these  boys  was  a  purely 
technical  one.  A  game  of  cards  between  gentlemen 
for  stakes  which  they  can  reasonably  afford" 


17*  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

the  Quartette  played  for  twopence  a  hundred  — 
"is  not  in  itself  an  indictable  offence.  I  only  wish 
that  boys  would  always  employ  their  spare  time  so 
profitably!"  added  the  Head  regretfully.  "Per- 
sonally, I  should  sincerely  like  to  see  every  boy  in 
this  School  grounded  systematically  in  the  ele- 
ments of  whist  or  bridge.  It  would  improve  his 
memory  and  inculcate  habits  of  observation  and 
deduction,  and  would  at  least  furnish  him  with  an 
alternative  to  the  cinematograph  on  a  wet  after- 
noon in  the  holidays.  Unfortunately  we  have  the 
British  parent  to  deal  with.  However,  that  is  a 
digression.  These  boys  are  not  of  the  stuff  that 
debauchees  are  made  of.  The  trouble  lies  in  the  fact 
that  they  are  rather  more  mature  than  their  fel- 
lows. Do  you  know,  I  expect  they  play  bridge  be- 
cause they  like  it,  and  find  it  a  more  pleasant  relax- 
ation at  the  end  of  the  day  than  cooking  unholy 
messes  over  their  study  fires  or  gossiping  in  the  dor- 
mitory? I  must  also  point  out  to  you  that  by  not 
appointing  them  to  a  position  of  authority  you 
have  thrown  them  more  or  less  on  their  own  re- 
sources. They  may  not  associate  with  the  aristo- 
cracy of  the  House,  and  they  are  more  than  a  cut 
above  the  common  herd.  So  they  form  themselves 
into  a  very  snug  and  exclusive  little  coterie,  and  I 
for  one  don't  blame  them.  But  send  them  along  to 
me,  and  I  will  deal  faithfully  with  them." 

To  the  Quartette  the  Head  pointed  out  that 
there  is  a  time  and  place  for  everything,  and  that 
rules,  if  not  enforced,  bring  mockery  and  discredit 
upon  their  authors. 

"Bridge  is  an  excellent  game,"  he  said,  "and  a 


THE  GOLDEN  AGE  173 

true  mental  gymnastic.  But  there  happens  to  be  a 
regulation  here  which  forbids  the  playing  of  cards 
by  boys  among  themselves.  We  need  not  go  into 
the  soundness  of  that  regulation :  the  only  relevant 
point  is  that  you  have  broken  it.  You  are  big  boys, 
and  the  bigger  the  boy  the  bigger  the  offence.  I 
am  going  to  make  the  punishment  fit  the  crime  by 
asking  Mr.  Brett  to  turn  you  out  of  your  studies 
for  the  rest  of  the  term.  For  the  next  four  weeks 
you  will  consort  with  the  profanum  vulgus  in  your 
House  Common  Room,  where  I  fancy  that  bridge 
and  other  intellectual  pursuits  are  not  much  cul- 
tivated. Now  you  can  go." 

The  Quartette  turned  dismally  towards  the 
door.  It  was  a  stiff  sentence.  But  the  Head  had  not 
quite  finished. 

"It  would  be  interesting,"  he  added  drily,  "to 
know  whether  you  play  bridge  because  you  like  it 
or  because  you  think  it  a  grand  thing  to  do.  Come 
and  dine  with  me  on  Saturday  night,  and  we  will 
have  a  rubber." 

"Sportsman,  the  old  Head!"  commented  Philip, 
as  they  walked  across  the  quadrangle. 

"My  word,  yes!"  said  the  other  three. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   IRON  AGE 

MB.  MABLETHORPE  was  much  interested  when 
Philip  told  him  the  story  in  the  holidays. 

"The  Head  is  all  right,"  he  said.  "He  was  only  a 
housemaster  in  my  day,  but  there  was  no  doubting 
his  quality,  even  then.  But  this  man  Brett  is  a 
national  disaster.  Do  you  think  you  can  derive 
any  further  profit  from  remaining  his  disciple?  " 

No,  Philip  thought  not. 


So  Philip  arrived  at  Coventry  at  last,  having 
started  some  years  previously,  it  may  be  remem- 
bered. 

He  was  enrolled  as  a  premium  apprentice  at  the 
great  works  of  the  Britannia  Motor  Company. 
Here  he  learned  to  use  his  fingers  and  his  fists,  his 
muscles  and  his  wits.  He  passed  through  the 
drawing-office,  and  the  erecting-shop,  and  the 
repairing-shop.  The  last  interested  him  most  of 
all,  for  the  Britannia  Company  repaired  other  cars 
besides  their  own;  so  here  Philip  could  indulge  in 
the  pleasures  of  variety.  He  learned  to  handle  cars 
of  every  grade  and  breed.  There  was  the  lordly 
Britannia  car  itself  —  the  final  word  in  automobil- 
ism  —  with  its  long  gleaming  body  and  six-cylinder 
engine,  so  silent  and  free  from  vibration  that  it  was 


THE  IRON  AGE  175 

possible  to  balance  a  half-crown  edgewise  upon  the 
faintly  humming  radiator.  There  were  countless 
other  makes  —  racing-cars,  runabout  cars,  com- 
mercial cars,  even  motor  omnibuses.  Philip  learned 
to  know  the  inner  economy  and  peculiar  ailments 
of  all.  There  were  American  cars  so  cheap  that  you 
could  not  believe  it  possible  that  they  could  be  sold 
at  a  profit  to  the  maker — until  it  became  necessary 
to  put  in  repairs  or  adjustments.  Then  the  whole 
car  seemed  to  fall  to  pieces  like  a  house  of  cards. 
Exasperated  mechanics  in  the  Britannia  repairing- 
shop  had  a  saying  that  if  you  wanted  to  take  up  the 
engine-bearings  in  one  of  these  cars  you  had  to 
begin  by  taking  down  the  back  axle.  There  was 
sufficient  truth  in  this  adage  to  set  Philip  wondering 
why  such  a  nation  of  born  engineers  should  make  a 
point  of  placing  their  nuts  and  bolts  in  almost  inac- 
cessible positions. 

"What  is  the  reason  of  it  all?"  he  enquired  one 
day  of  a  colleague  from  Pittsburg,  who  was  assist- 
ing him  to  dismantle  the  greater  part  of  the  clutch 
and  flywheel  of  a  cheap  American  car  as  a  prelimi- 
nary to  adjusting  the  magneto.  "Why  do  you 
make  cars  like  jig-saw  puzzles?" 

The  colleague  explained.  He  was  a  pleasant 
youth  of  twenty,  with  the  studiously  courteous 
manners  of  the  American  gentleman,  —  they  con- 
trasted quaintly  with  Philip's  shy  native  brusquerie, 
—  sent  by  a  big-headed  father  to  acquire  a  little 
British  ballast  before  assuming  the  position  of 
second  in  command  at  home. 

"I  conclude  it  is  because  our  national  point  of 
view  is  different  from  yours,"  he  said.  "These 


176          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

cars  are  n't  meant  to  be  repaired.  We  make  it'  as 
difficult  as  possible  to  do  so.  You  in  this  country 
like  to  build  a  car  that  will  last  —  like  Westminster 
Abbey.  Over  there  we  say:  'What  is  the  use  of 
sinking  good  money  in  a  design  that  will  be  out  of 
date  in  two  years  anyway?  Make  it  good  if  you 
can,  but  make  it  cheap,  and  when  it  wears  out, 
make  another.  And  whatever  you  do,  don't  fool 
around  tinkering.  Life's  too  short.'  At  least  it  is  in 
our  country,"  he  added,  smiling.  "Over  here  you 
seem  to  make  it  go  a  bit  further,  like  your  automo- 
biles. Unscrew  that  nut  some  more." 

They  were  full  and  profitable  years,  those  at  the 
Britannia  Works.  As  Philip  gradually  emancipated 
himself  from  the  hard  manual  labour  of  the  shops 
and  rose  from  practical  to  theoretical  problems,  his 
old  mathematical  and  scientific  ability  cropped  out 
again.  His  inventive  genius  began  to  stir.  Petrol 
was  going  steadily  up  in  price,  so  Philip  set  himself 
to  experiment  with  substitutes.  The  result  was  the 
Meldrum  Paraffin  Carburettor,  now  a  standard 
adjunct  of  the  commercial  motor.  Later  on  came 
the  Meldrum  Fool-proof  Automatic  Lubricator, 
which  achieved  high  favour  with  absent-minded 
amateurs  who  made  a  hobby  of  allowing  their 
engines  to  seize.  And  later,  in  fulness  of  time,  came 
the  Meldrum  Automatic  Electro-magnetic  Brake, 
which  was  destined  to  play  a  tremendous  part  in 
Philip's  history,  as  you  shall  hear. 

With  all  these  burning  interests  to  occupy  him, 
Philip  had  little  time  for  amusement.  He  played 
Rugby  Football  regularly  for  Coventry  City;  and 
any  one  who  has  had  experience  of  that  gentle  pas- 


THE  IRON  AGE  177 

time  as  cultivated  in  the  Midland  counties  will 
realise  the  testimonial  to  Philip's  muscle  and  gen- 
eral fitness  involved  in  his  selection.  Every  Satur- 
day he  fared  forth  with  his  colleagues  to  do  battle 
with  the  men  of  Moseley  and  Leicester,  or  even 
penetrated  to  London,  there  to  indulge  in  feats  of 
personal  but  friendly  violence  at  the  expense  of 
Blackheath  or  the  London  Scottish.  He  particu- 
larly enjoyed  the  occasional  visits  of  the  team  to 
Oxford  and  Cambridge,  for  there  he  usually  en- 
countered some  old  friend  —  Lemaire,  now  a 
scholar  of  Balliol,  or  Desborough,  coaching  a  crew 
upon  the  tortuous  Cam. 

But  Rugby  football  was  no  fetish  with  Philip  — 
which  would  have  pleased  Mr.  Brett.  All  his  heart 
was  centred  on  his  work.  To  Philip  in  those  days 
Work  was  Life  —  a  point  of  view  which  in  due 
course  Time  would  correct,  or  rather  supplement. 
Each  night  when  he  said  his  prayers,  —  he  had 
contracted  the  habit  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  after  a 
certain  Sunday  evening  sermon  from  the  Head, 
backed  by  a  particular  hymn,  which  had  awakened 
in  his  rapidly  developing  little  soul  the  knowledge 
that  there  were  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth 
than  were  included  in  Uncle  Joseph's  scheme  of 
education,  —  he  asked  his  Maker,  tout  court,  for 
work,  and  work,  and  more  work,  and  health  where- 
with to  perform  it.  Only  that. 

In  addition  to  Collier,  the  American,  he  made 
other  friends  about  the  Works.  Some  were  of 
humble  station;  others  —  like  himself  —  premium 
apprentices  who  had  paid  to  be  taught  then-  busi- 
ness, and  hoped  one  day  to  direct  businesses  of  their 


178          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

own,  or  at  the  worst  lounge  immaculately  in  a  show- 
room in  Bond  Street  or  Pall  Mall,  intimidating 
wealthy  but  plebeian  patrons  into  buying  more 
expensive  cars  than  had  been  their  original  inten- 
tion. They  were  a  rowdy,  sociable,  good-hearted 
crew,  addicted  to  what  they  called  "jags"  on  Sat- 
urday nights.  Then  there  were  the  salaried  staff 
of  the  Works.  One,  Bilston,  director  of  the  draw- 
ing-office, conceived  a  strong  liking  for  the  capable 
Meldrum,  and  it  was  mainly  through  his  represen- 
tations that  Philip,  when  he  emerged  from  his 
apprenticeship  and  began  to  pass  examinations, 
was  kept  on  at  the  Works  and  given  a  post  which 
combined  increased  responsibility  with  further 
opportunities  to  perfect  himself  in  his  craft. 

Occasionally  Philip  took  a  holiday.  Sometimes 
he  went  to  Cheltenham,  where  Uncle  Joseph,  roar- 
ing like  any  sucking  dove,  was  devoting  his  re- 
claimed existence  to  Territorial  Associations  and 
Boy  Scouts.  To  be  quite  frank,  Philip  was  secretly 
conscious  of  a  feeling  of  slight  boredom  at  Chelten- 
ham. A  perfectly  happy  couple  are  undeniably 
just  a  little  dull,  and  Uncle  Joseph  and  the  Beauti- 
ful Lady  were  so  entirely  wrapped  up  in  one  an- 
other and  their  daughter  —  an  infant  of  quite  phe- 
nomenal wisdom  and  beauty  —  that  the  ordinary 
pleasures  of  life  were  not  for  them.  They  held, 
rightly,  that  pleasure  is  the  resource  of  those  who 
have  failed  to  find  happiness,  and  consequently 
had  no  need  of  it;  but  their  nephew,  who  had  not 
yet  arrived  at  the  period  when  a  man  begins  to  ask 
himself  whether  he  is  happy  or  not,  and  possessed  a 
frank  and  healthy  appetite  for  the  usual  diversions 


THE  IRON  AGE  179 

of  a  young  man  on  holiday,  found  existence  at 
Cheltenham  a  trifle  too  idyllic  to  be  satisfying. 

He  enjoyed  himself  more  at  Red  Gables.  Mr. 
Mablethorpe  remained  as  incorrigibly  Peter  Pan- 
nish  as  ever.  Although  his  hah*  was  whitening  and 
his  figure  becoming  more  spherical,  he  declined  to 
grow  up.  His  levity  was  a  perpetual  sorrow  to  his 
sensitive  spouse.  Once,  in  response  to  a  more  than 
usually  tearful  appeal,  he  made  a  resolute  effort  to 
reform.  He  read  the  "Times"  at  breakfast,  sup- 
plements and  all.  He  dressed  himself  in  tight  gar- 
ments and  accompanied  his  wife  to  tea-parties.  He 
began  to  talk  of  engaging  a  chauffeur  instead  of 
indulging  in  personal  bear-fights  with  Boanerges. 
In  short,  he  became  so  unspeakably  dull  that  Mrs. 
Mablethorpe  grew  more  tearful  than  ever,  and  said 
it  was  breaking  her  spirit  to  have  to  keep  on  smil- 
ing and  being  cheerful  for  two.  Whereupon  Mr. 
Mablethorpe,  removing  his  tongue  from  his  cheek, 
reverted  to  his  former  state,  to  the  great  comfort  of 
Red  Gables. 

Of  the  Dumpling,  Philip  did  not  see  much.  She 
was  usually  at  school;  but  when  they  met  during 
the  holidays  she  always  appeared  to  her  former 
playmate  to  have  lost  yet  more  of  her  adiposity 
and  to  have  shot  up  another  six  inches.  But  they 
continued  to  be  firm  allies;  and  though  in  time  the 
dumpling  grew  reserved  and  gauche,  after  the  man- 
ner of  adolescent  maidens,  their  old  joyous  cama- 
raderie over  such  things  as  Boanerges  and  birds' 
nests  was  never  suffered  to  die  out. 

One  other  haunt  of  his  youth  Philip  visited  — 
the  house  on  Hampstead  Heath. 


180          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

He  went  twice.  The  first  visit  was  paid  during 
one  of  his  school  holidays,  a  trial  trip  on  a  new 
bicycle  affording  a  pretext.  (Philip  was  too  much 
of  a  schoolboy  by  this  time  to  admit  even  to  him- 
self that  he  proposed  to  ride  forty  miles  just  to  see  a 
girl.)  It  was  midsummer.  He  arrived  on  the  Heath 
about  two  in  the  afternoon,  and,  leaving  his  bicycle 
leaning  against  the  trysting-gate  of  happy  memory, 
cruised  methodically  about,  stealthily  watching  the 
house  in  the  hope  that  a  certain  slim  figure  would 
emerge  from  the  side  door  and  come  skipping  down 
the  road. 

But  no  such  thing  happened.  The  only  member 
of  the  household  whom  he  encountered  was  Mon- 
tagu Falconer  himself.  He  swung  suddenly  out 
of  a  side  road,  walking  at  his  usual  frantic  pace, 
and,  looking  straight  through  Philip,  whom  he  en- 
tirely failed  to  recognise,  shot  past  him  and  was 
gone.  But  nothing  further  happened,  and  our 
knight,  after  lingering  until  dusk,  pedalled  home 
unrewarded  by  a  glimpse  of  his  Lady. 

The  second  visit  was  paid  two  years  later.  This 
time  Philip  arrived  at  Hampstead  by  Tube,  and 
walked  boldly  up  to  the  Heath,  big  with  resolution. 
He  had. decided  to  ring  the  bell  like  a  real  after- 
noon caller  and  enquire  if  Mrs.  Falconer  were  at 
home. 

As  he  drew  near  the  house  his  footsteps  faltered. 
Young  women  may  wonder  why,  but  the  young  man 
who  still  remembers  the  agony  of  his  first  formal 
call  will  not.  rBut  Philip  walked  on  resolutely. 

Finally  he  arrived  at  the  house  of  his  Lady.  It 


THE   IRON  AGE 


181 


was  shuttered  and  silent.  The  garden  was  weedy 
and  the  lawn  unshaven.  Beside  the  gate  a  staring 
board  said :  — 


TO 

LET 

CHAPTER  XV 

OMEGA,    CERTAINLY   NOT! 

Miss  SYLVIA  MABLETHORPE  —  "also  known  to 
the  police,"  to  quote  her  unfeeling  papa,  as  Dump- 
ling, Dumps,  Daniel  Lambert,  and  the  Tich- 
borne  Claimant  —  sat  upon  the  high  wall  which 
enclosed  the  demesne  of  Red  Gables,  gazing  com- 
fortably up  and  down  the  long  white  road.  In  her 
lap  lay  cherries,  in  her  hand  a  novel.  It  was  a  hot 
summer  afternoon.  She  had  exchanged  greetings 
with  the  local  policeman,  various  school-children, 
and  the  curate,  all  of  whom  had  passed  by  upon 
their  several  errands  within  the  last  half -hour.  For 
the  moment  the  road  was  clear,  and  Dumps  had 
leisure  to  resume  the  pursuit  of  literature. 

But  she  had  barely  covered  half  a  page  when 
there  fell  upon  her  ears  the  sound  of  a  horse's 
hoofs.  Dumps,  however,  did  not  raise  her  eyes 
from  the  not  very  interesting  volume  before  her, 
though  it  may  be  noted  that  she  had  looked  up 
readily  enough  upon  the  advent  of  the  curate,  the 
policeman,  and  the  school-children.  All  of  which 
was  a  sign  that  Dumps  was  growing  up.  Indeed, 
she  had  left  school  a  month  ago,  and  was  to  go 
abroad  in  a  few  weeks  to  undergo  that  mysterious 
feminine  process  known  as  "finishing." 

The  clatter  of  hoofs  grew  louder,  slowed  down, 
and  came  to  a  stealthy  stop  just  opposite  to  that 


OMEGA,  CERTAINLY  NOT         183 

part  of  the  wall  whereon  Dumps  was  seated.  She 
looked  up  lazily,  to  find  a  pleasantly  sunburned 
youth  of  twenty -two  removing  his  cap. 

"Hello,  Derek!"  she  observed  casually.  "That 
you?" 

Master  Derek  blushed  guiltily. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "Good-afternoon.  I  only  got 
back  from  Aldershot  last  night." 

"Oh.  Have  you  been  away?"  enquired  the 
heartless  Dumps. 

"Four  months,"  replied  Derek,  in  tones  of  re- 
spectful reproach. 

"And  now  you  are  home  for  the  holidays?" 
remarked  Miss  Mablethorpe  brightly. 

"Long  leave,"  Derek  corrected  her,  in  a  humble 
voice. 

"What  fun  it  must  be,"  continued  Sylvia,  "liv- 
ing in  a  tent  for  weeks  and  doing  nothing." 

Second  Lieutenant  Rayner,  who  had  just  spent 
four  strenuous  months  under  canvas  or  on  manoeu- 
vres, ending  with  a  route  march  in  which  his  bat- 
talion had  covered  a  hundred  and  twenty  miles  in 
four  days,  smiled  wanly.  No  man  is  a  hero  to  the 
girl  with  whom  he  has  played  in  infancy. 

"Topping  weather,  is  n't  it?"  he  observed  pres- 
ently. 

Dumps  agreed,  sunning  herself  luxuriously. 

"Does  your  mare  eat  cherries?"  she  asked. 

"No,  but  I  do,"  said  Derek  with  great  boldness. 

Dumps  threw  him  down  a  couple,  and  continued : 

"I  am  waiting  for  Dad.  He  is  correcting  proofs 
—  very  cross.  When  he  has  finished  we  are  going 
out  in  Boanerges." 


184  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Have  you  still  got  Boanerges?"  asked  Derek 
incredulously. 

"Yes,  but  he  is  on  his  very  last  legs.  We  have  a 
new  car  coming." 

"What  sort?" 

"  A  Britannia.  It  has  been  specially  selected 
for  us,"  said  Dumps  with  pride,  "by  —  by  an  offi- 
cial of  the  company.  The  front  seat  is  being  put  a 
little  forward,  so  that  I  can  drive." 

A  few  years  ago  Master  Derek  Rayner  would 
have  greeted  this  announcement  with  some  exceed- 
ingly witty  and  caustic  comments.  Now  he  merely 
murmured  reverentially :  — 

"I  expect  you  will  make  a  ripping  little  chauf- 
feur." 

"I  should  n't  wonder,"  agreed  Dumps  compla- 
cently. "Where  are  you  going?" 

"Oh,  just  for  a  ride,"  said  Derek.  "Are  your 
people  quite  well?" 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

"Tell  Mrs.  Mablethorpe  I  was  asking  for  her, 
will  you?" 

"I  will  make  a  point  of  it,"  said  the  impervious 
Dumps.  Then,  relenting  slightly,  she  enquired: 
"Are  you  going  to  tennis  at  Oatlands  on  Thurs- 
day?" 

"Yes,"  said  Derek  eagerly.  "Would  you  mind 
being  my  partner  in  the  mixed  doubles?" 

"Is  that  a  sudden  inspiration?"  asked  Dumps. 

"No,  really.  I  have  been  meaning  to  ask  you  for 
weeks.  That's  why  I  rode  over  here  this  after- 
noon," blurted  out  Derek. 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  were  just  out  for  a  ride," 


OMEGA,  CERTAINLY  NOT          185 

remarked  Miss  Mablethorpe.  (It  is  quite  a  mistake 
to  suppose  that  it  is  only  small  boys  who  are  cruel 
to  the  humbler  members  of  creation.) 

Derek  floundered  helplessly,  and  was  dumb. 
From  afar  came  the  melodious  toot  of  a  well-mod- 
ulated Gabriel  horn.  Dumps  sat  up,  and  looked 
sharply  up  the  road. 

"Well,  anyway,  will  you  be  my  partner?"  asked 
Derek,  lifting  his  eyes  once  more.  He  was  sur- 
prised and  not  a  little  gratified  to  observe  that  Miss 
Sylvia  had  turned  excessively  pink. 

"Yes  —  perhaps.  No.  All  right,"  replied  the 
girl  shortly.  "I  must  go  now.  Good-bye.  See  you 
on  Thursday." 

By  way  of  intimating  that  the  audience  was 
terminated,  Miss  Mablethorpe  swung  her  ankles 
—  they  had  grown  quite  slim  these  days  —  over 
the  wall  and  disappeared  with  a  thud.  Mr.  Rayner, 
on  the  whole  much  puffed  up,  galloped  away. 

Two  minutes  later  an  automobile,  consisting 
chiefly  of  a  chassis,  with  a  single  wooden  seat  lashed 
to  the  frame,  slid  to  a  standstill  outside  the  gates  of 
Red  Gables.  On  the  back  of  the  seat,  in  bold  letters, 
was  painted  the  legend,  "Britannia  Motor  Com- 
pany, Coventry."  In  the  seat  sat  Philip. 

The  car  had  hardly  stopped  when  the  gates  were 
swung  open  and  Dumps  appeared,  smiling  welcome. 

"  Hallo,  Philip ! "  she  said.   " Is  this  our  new  car?  " 

"Not  quite,"  said  Philip,  surveying  his  dingy  but 
workmanlike  equipage.  "This  is  my  service-car. 
They  are  sending  yours  on  Monday." 

By  this  tune  the  girl  had  clambered  on  to  the 
back  of  the  chassis  and  ensconced  herself  on  the 


186  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

petrol-tank.  Philip,  turning  the  car  in  through  the 
gates,  drove  up  the  short  straight  avenue  to  the 
front  door.  The  purring  of  the  big  engine  ceased, 
and  the  pair,  having  alighted,  passed  arm-in-arm, 
like  brother  and  sister,  into  the  presence  of  Mr. 
Mablethorpe. 

That  excellent  but  volcanic  author  was  discov- 
ered tearing  his  hair  with  one  hand,  and  digging 
holes  in  a  long  galley  proof  (employing  a  fountain- 
pen  as  a  stiletto)  with  the  other. 

"Hallo,  Philip!"  he  began  at  once.  "Will  you 
have  a  bet  with  me?  " 

"Certainly,"  said  Philip.   "What  about?" 

"I  bet  you  one  million  pounds,"  said  Mr.  Mable- 
thorpe with  great  precision,  "that  the  condemned 
printing-firm  employed  by  my  unmentionable  pub- 
lishers has  taken  into  its  adjectival  employment  an 
asterisked  staff  of  obelised  female  compositors. 
Consequently  I  shall  have  to  retire  to  an  asylum. 
It  is  a  nuisance,  because  I  have  just  bought  a  new 
automobile." 

"How  are  you  so  certain  about  the  female  com- 
positors?" asked  Philip. 

The  author  pathetically  flapped  the  long  printed 
slip  in  his  face. 

"I  don't  mind  correcting  misprints,"  he  said. 
"I  am  used  to  it.  Male  compositors  cannot  spell,  of 
course;  in  fact,  very  few  of  them  can  read.  But 
they  do  understand  stops;  at  least,  they  put  in  the 
stops  that  an  author  gives  them.  The  female  of  the 
species,  on  the  other  hand,  only  recognises  the 
existence  of  two  —  the  comma  and  the  note  of 
exclamation.  These  she  drops  into  the  script  as  she 


OMEGA,  CERTAINLY  NOT          187 

would  drop  cloves  into  an  apple-tart  —  a  handful 
or  two  when  she  has  finished  setting  up  the  type. 
At  least,  I  suppose  so.  She  also  sets  her  face  against 
the  senseless  custom  of  using  capital  letters  to  be- 
gin a  sentence.  Otherwise  she  is  admirably  suited 
to  her  calling.  Look  at  this!" 

He  exhibited  a  corrected  proof  —  a  mass  of  red 
ink  and  marginal  profanity. 

"I  am  feeling  better  now,"  he  said.  "I  have 
written  both  to  the  publisher  and  printer.  The 
letter  to  the  printer  was  particularly  good.  Have  a 
cigarette?  What  have  you  come  to  see  us  for  — 
business  or  pleasure?" 

"Business,"  said  Philip. 

"Public  or  private?" 

Philip  considered. 

"Private." 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  turned  to  his  daughter. 

"Inquisitive  female,"  he  thundered,  "avaunt!" 

"Oh,  it 's  not  private  to  Dumps,"  said  Philip.  " I 
have  been  offered  a  new  billet,  that's  all." 

"Then  let  us  all  sit  down  and  argue  about  it," 
proposed  Mr.  Mablethrope  with  zest.  He  threw 
his  proofs  on  the  floor.  "My  wife  is  upstairs,  read- 
ing the  mendacious  prospectus  of  a  new  Conti- 
nental spa,  and  I  don't  suppose  she  will  develop  the 
symptoms  it  professes  to  cure  much  before  six 
o'clock.  Go  ahead,  Philip," 

"The  directors  want  me  to  take  charge  of  the 
London  offices,"  said  Philip. 

"What  are  the  London  offices,  where  are  they, 
and  why  do  they  require  taking  charge  of?"  en- 
quired Mr.  Mablethorpe  categorically.  Like  all 


188          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

unmethodical  and  scatter-brained  persons  he 
eherished  a  high  opinion  of  himself  as  a  man  of 
affairs. 

"The  London  offices,"  said  Philip,  "are  in  Ox- 
ford Street.  They  consist  of  a  show-room,  full  of 
new  cars  —  the  Company  gets  most  of  its  orders 
through  this  show-room  —  and  a  biggish  garage 
and  repairing-shop  at  the  back,  opening  into  some- 
where in  Soho." 

"And  do  they  want  you  to  tell  untruths  in  the 
show-room  or  wash  cars  in  the  garage?"  enquired 
Mr.  Mablethorpe. 

Dumps  stiffened  indignantly,  but  Philip 
laughed. 

"They  want  me  to  boss  the  whole  place,"  he 
said.  "  Hitherto  they  have  had  a  man  in  charge  of 
the  show-room  and  another  in  charge  of  the  garage, 
and  there  has  been  everlasting  trouble  between 
them.  I  gather  that  the  show-room  man  is  young 
—  an  old  public-school  boy  — " 

"I  know!  Wears  white  spats,  and  sends  for  an 
underling  to  open  the  bonnet  of  a  car  when  a  cus- 
tomer asks  to  see  the  works,"  said  Mr.  Mable- 
thorpe. "  Go  on." 

"  And  the  repair-shop  man  is  elderly  and  York- 
shire and  a  ranker.  I  fancy  they  parted  brass-rags 
from  the  start,  with  the  result  that  working  ex- 
penses are  too  high  — " 

"  Surprising!"  murmured  Mr.  Mablethorpe. 

"  —  And  I  have  been  told  off  to  go  to  town  and 
supervise  the  pair  of  them,"  concluded  Philip. 
"Shall  I?" 

44  Why  not?" 


OMEGA,  CERTAINLY  NOT          189 

"  Well  —  I  shall  be  giving  up  my  other  work,  you 
know." 

"  What  is  your  other  work?  Describe  one  of  your 
ordinary  days  in  detail." 

Philip  did  so.  When  he  had  finished,  Mr.  Mable- 
thorpe  said :  — 

"  Well,  if  that  is  the  sort  of  life  your  tastes  incline 
to,  why  not  go  the  whole  hog  and  get  ten  years' 
penal  servitude  right  away?  That  strikes  me  as  an 
equally  suitable  and  much  more  economical  method 
of  satisfying  your  desires.  Consider!  You  would 
get  ten  years  of  continuous  employment,  of  a  kind 
almost  identical  with  your  present  occupation,  and 
the  State  —  people  like  me  —  would  maintain  you 
into  the  bargain.  No  rates,  no  taxes,  no  extortion- 
ate tradesmen,  no  women  of  any  kind!  Regular 
hours,  rational  diet,  and  free  spiritual  consolation! 
What  more  could  a  man  ask?  True,  your  hours  of 
work  would  be  shorter  than  at  present,  but  I  dare 
say  that  if  you  were  good  they  would  allow  you  an 
extra  go  at  the  oakum  when  no  one  else  was  using 
it.  That's  the  plan,  Philip!  Put  the  thing  on  a 
business  footing  at  once,  and  get  arrested!  Don't 
overdo  it,  of  course.  It  is  no  use  committing  a  crime 
they  could  harig  you  for:  that  would  be  trap  de  zele. 
Supposing  you  burn  down  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment —  or,  better  still,  the  Imperial  Institute  —  or 
get  to  work  on  some  of  your  personal  friends  with  a 
chopper,  and  carve  ten  years'  worth  out  of  them. 
Start  on  Dumps  here.  She  would  make  a  capital 
subject  for  experiment." 

Miss  Mablethorpe  turned  to  the  visitor  with  an 
apologetic  smile. 


190  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"He  will  be  all  right  presently,"  she  said,  indicat- 
ing her  parent.  "He  is  always  a  little  strange  in  his 
manner  after  correcting  proofs." 

She  was  right.  Presently  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  who 
had  been  ranting  about  the  room,  to  the  detriment 
of  waste-paper  baskets  and  revolving  bookcases, 
sat  down  and  said :  — 

"And  you  are  reluctant  to  give  up  your  present 
berth,  Phil?" 

"Yes,"  said  Philip,  "I  am.  You  see,"  he  added 
a  little  shyly,  "it's  my  work." 

"Quite  so,"  agreed  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  suddenly 
serious.  "You  believe  that  work  is  the  key  of  life. 
Labor  omnia  vincit  —  eh?" 

Philip  nodded,  but  Dumps  enquired:  — 

"What  does  that  mean,  please?" 

Her  father  translated,  and  continued:  — 

"Philip,  let  me  tell  you  something.  You  are  in 
danger  of  becoming  a  specialist.  Life,  roughly,  is 
made  up  of  two  ingredients  —  Things  and  People. 
At  present  you  are  devoting  yourself  entirely  to 
Things  —  to  Work,  in  fact.  How  many  years  have 
you  lived  in  Coventry?" 

"About  five." 

"  Very  good.  And  how  many  people  do  you  know 
there?  I  am  not  referring  to  your  fellow  stokers. 
I  mean  people  outside  the  place.  How  many?" 

Philip  pondered,  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"Half  a  dozen?" 

"Perhaps." 

"There  you  are,  right  away!"  said  Mr.  Mable- 
thorpe, with  the  intensely  satisfied  air  of  one  who 


OMEGA,  CERTAINLY  NOT         191 

has  scored  a  point.  "  You  have  spent  five  years  in  a 
place,  and  barely  know  half  a  dozen  people  there. 
You  are  becoming  a  specialist,  my  son  —  a  special- 
ist in  Things.  That  is  all  wrong.  You  are  lop-sided. 
Man  was  never  intended  to  devote  himself  to 
Things,  to  the  exclusion  of  People  —  least  of  all 
you,  with  your  strong  gregarious  instincts  and 
human  sympathies.  Is  n't  that  true?" 

Philip  considered.  Long  dormant  visions  were 
awakening  within  him.  His  thoughts  went  back  to 
the  days  when  he  had  decided  to  follow  the  calling 
of  a  knight-errant.  That  decision  had  not  occupied 
his  attention  much  of  late,  he  reflected. 

"And  therefore,"  continued  Mr.  Mablethorpe, 
"  I  counsel  you  to  go  to  London  and  take  up  the  new 
billet.  Go  and  reason  with  the  Yorkshire  foreman, 
and  pulverize  the  gentleman  in  spats,  and  argue 
with  creditors  —  go  and  study  People.  Study  the 
way  they  walk,  the  way  they  talk,  the  way  they 
think,  the  way  they  drink.  You  won't  like  them. 
They  will  shirk  their  work,  or  blow  in  your  face,  or 
tell  you  anecdotes  which  will  make  you  weep.  But 
they  will  restore  your  balance.  They  will  develop 
the  human  side  of  you.  Then  you  will  be  really 
rather  an  exceptional  character,  Philip.  Very  few 
of  us  are  evenly  balanced  between  Things  and  Peo- 
ple. All  women,  for  instance,  have  a  permanent 
list  toward  People.  Things  have  no  meaning  for 
them.  A  triumph  of  engineering,  or  organisation,  or 
art,  or  logical  reasoning,  makes  no  appeal  whatever 
to  a  woman's  enthusiasm.  She  may  admire  the  man 
who  achieves  them,  of  course,  but  only  because  he 
happens  to  have  sad  eyes,  or  a  firm  mouth,  or  a  wife 


A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

in  an  asylum.  If  the  personal  touch  be  lacking, 
Things  simply  bore  Woman.  I  once  showed  an 
aunt  of  mine  —  a  refined  and  intelligent  woman  — 
round  the  finest  cathedral  in  England,  and  the  one 
solitary  feature  of  the  whole  fabric  which  interested 
her  was  a  certain  stall  in  the  choir,  where  a  grand- 
nephew  of  hers  had  once  sat  for  eighteen  months  as 
a  choir-boy!  Yes,  women  are  undoubtedly  lop- 
sided. Men,  as  a  whole,  are  predisposed  the  other 
way  —  which  largely  accounts  for  what  is  known 
as  sex-antagonism.  Heaven  help  all  novelists  if  no 
such  thing  existed!" 

"  Shop!"  remarked  the  unfilial  Dumps. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe,  recalled  to  his  text,  continued : 

"  Very  well,  then.  We  agree  that  Things  —  by 
which  we  mean  Work  —  are  not  the  Alpha  and 
Omega  of  Life.  Alpha,  perhaps;  Omega,  certainly 
not." 

"Don't  you  mean,  *  Archibald,  Certainly  Not!' 
Daddy?"  enquired  Miss  Dumps,  referring  to  a 
popular  ditty  of  the  moment.  Mr.  Mablethorpe 
took  no  heed. 

"  Labor  omnia  vincit"  he  said,  "  is  only  half  a 
truth.  There  is  another  maxim  in  the  same  tongue 
which  supplies  the  other  half.  You  can  easily  com- 
mit it  to  memory  if  you  bear  in  mind  the  fact  that 
it  ends  a  pentameter,  while  the  other  ends  a  hexa- 
meter. It  is:  Omnia  vincit  amor." 

He  translated  for  the  benefit  of  his  unlearned 
daughter,  and  swept  on. 

"  Now,  consider.  If  it  is  true  that  Work  conquers 
All,  and  equally  true  that  Love  conquers  All,  what 
must  be  our  logical  and  inevitable  conclusion?" 


OMEGA,  CERTAINLY  NOT         193 

It  was  Dumps  who  answered. 

"That  Love  and  Work  come  to  the  same  thing  in 
the  end,"  she  said.  Her  eyes  met  Philip's,  and 
dropped  quickly. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  nodded  his  head  gravely. 

"Philip,"  he  said,"  you  hear  the  words  of  this 
wise  infant?  They  are  true.  That  is  why  I  want 
you  to  go  and  mix  with  People.  You  are  getting  a 
bit  too  mechanical  in  your  conception  of  Life.  You 
are  in  danger  of  becoming  an  automaton.  You  must 
cultivate  your  emotions  a  bit  —  Love,  Hate,  Pity, 
Joy,  Sorrow  —  if  you  want  to  turn  into  a  perfectly 
equipped  Man.  Taking  them  all  round,  it  is  im- 
possible to  get  to  know  one's  fellow  creatures  with- 
out getting  to  love  them.  That  is  the  secret  which 
has  kept  this  old  world  plodding  along  so  philo- 
sophically for  so  many  centuries.  So  start  in  on 
People,  my  son.  Go  to  London  and  take  up  that 
appointment.  You  will  regret  your  old  workshop 
at  times.  Machinery  is  never  illogical,  or  unreason- 
able, or  ungrateful;  and  though  it  may  break  your 
arms  and  legs,  it  will  never  try  to  break  your  heart. 
Still,  it  is  only  machinery.  If  you  want  to  attain 
to  the  supreme  joys  of  Life  you  will  have  to  be  pre- 
pared for  the  deep  sorrows  too,  and  you  can  only 
meet  with  these  things  by  consorting  with  human 
beings.  You  have  discovered  for  yourself  —  or 
think  you  have  —  that  labor  omnia  vincit.  Go  on 
now  until  you  realise  the  meaning  of  the  other 
phrase  of  which  I  spoke.  When  that  happens  you 
will  have  found  yourself.  You  will  be  poised  and 
balanced.  In  short,  my  son,  you  will  be  a  Man. 
Now  let  us  scramble  for  muffins." 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THINGS 

THE  Euston  Road,  which  is  perhaps  the  most 
funereal  thoroughfare  in  Europe,  furnishes  their 
first  glimpse  of  London  to  fully  fifty  per  cent  of  all 
who  visit  our  capital. 

Philip  was  no  stranger  to  London,  for  he  had 
spent  his  youth  in  the  wilds  of  Hampstead;  and 
later  on,  like  most  young  men,  had  formed  a  toler- 
ably intimate  acquaintance  with  that  portion  of 
the  metropolis  which  lies  within  a  radius  of  one 
mile  of  Piccadilly  Circus.  Still,  as  his  cab  hurried 
away  from  the  unspeakable  hideousness  of  Euston 
Station  and  turned  into  that  congeries  of  tomb- 
stone-makers' yards  and  unsavoury  lodging-houses 
which  constitutes  the  Euston  Road,  even  Coventry 
seemed  pleasantly  rural  by  comparison.  Most  of  us 
are  inclined  to  feel  like  this  at  the  outset  of  a  new 
undertaking.  Fortunately  we  can  support  our- 
selves through  this  period  with  the  reflection  that 
every  success  worth  winning  is  approached  by  a 
Euston  Road  of  some  kind. 

Philip's  first  few  weeks  in  the  London  offices  were 
a  prolongation  of  this  journey.  The  young  gentle- 
man in  the  show-room  proved  to  be  unspeakably 
offensive  and  incompetent;  the  Yorkshireman  in 
the  repairing-shop  was  incredibly  obstinate  and 
secretive.  The  staff  were  slack,  and  the  premises 


THINGS  195 

dirty.  Letters  were  not  answered  promptly,  and 
the  accounts  were  in  a  shocking  mess.  Finally, 
every  soul  in  the  place  (with  the  possible  exception 
of  the  lady  typist)  greeted  the  intrusion  of  the  new 
manager  with  undisguised  hostility. 

Philip,  reminding  himself  of  the  period  of  time  in 
which  Rome  was  not  built,  set  to  work,  in  his  seri- 
ous methodical  fashion,  to  master  departmental 
details.  He  went  through  the  repair-shop  first,  and 
mindful  of  Mr.  Mablethorpe's  admonition  to  ob- 
serve People  rather  than  Things,  spent  much  time 
in  studying  the  characters  of  each  of  the  men  em- 
ployed. As  a  result  of  his  investigations  two  me- 
chanics, props  of  their  Union,were  tersely  informed 
that  unless  their  standard  of  performance  was 
raised  at  least  one  hundred  per  cent,  their  services 
would  not  be  required  after  the  end  of  the  current 
month. 

Next  came  a  brief  but  painful  interview  with 
Mr.  Murgatroyd,  the  Yorkshireman,  on  the  sub- 
ject of  perquisites  and  commissions.  The  motor 
industry  lends  itself  to  the  acquirement  of  pickings 
more,  perhaps,  than  any  other  trade  of  to-day,  and 
the  long-headed  Mr.  Murgatroyd  had  made  good 
use  of  the  opportunities  thrown  in  his  way  for 
something  like  ten  years.  Henceforth,  Philip  ex- 
plained to  him,  there  must  be  no  more  clandestine 
douceurs  from  tyre-agents,  no  more  strictly  private 
rebates  on  consignments  of  petrol,  and  no  more 
piling-up  of  unconsidered  trifles  in  customers'  bills. 
Before  undertaking  a  repairing  contract  of  any 
magnitude,  Mr.  Murgatroyd  must  present  a  de- 
tailed estimate  of  the  cost,  and  the  work  was  not  to 


196 

be  put  in  hand  until  the  estimate  was  approved  and 
countersigned  by  the  owner  of  the  car. 

To  this  Mr.  Murgatroyd  replied  almost  tearfully 
that  if  Mr.  Meldrum  proposed  to  run  the  establish- 
ment upon  Sunday-school  lines,  the  sooner  they 
put  up  the  shutters  the  better. 

"  Does  that  mean  that  you  want  to  resign  your 
post,  Mr.  Murgatroyd?"  asked  Philip  hopefully. 

Mr.  Murgatroyd  was  not  to  be  caught. 

"  Not  at  all,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I  dare  say  we  shall 
take  a  little  time  to  get  used  to  one  another's  ways, 
that's  all;  but  in  the  end  I'm  sure  we  shall  rub 
along  grandly." 

What  Mr.  Murgatroyd  meant  was :  — 

"  You  are  a  new  broom.  In  a  short  time  your 
youthful  zeal  for  reform  will  have  abated,  and  we 
can  then  slip  back  unto  the  old  comfortable  groove. 
For  the  present  I  must  make  a  show  of  complying 
with  your  idiotic  commands." 

Philip  understood  this,  and  calculated  that  six 
months  of  commercial  austerity  would  set  his 
manager  looking  for  a  softer  berth.  Both  sides  hav- 
ing thus  decided  to  wait  and  see,  the  interview 
terminated. 

Philip  next  introduced  his  broom  into  the  some- 
what Augean  garage.  Car-washers  were  straitly 
informed  that  their  duty  was  to  wash  cars  and  not 
to  rifle  the  tool-boxes  and  door-pockets  thereof. 
The  current  price  of  that  fluctuating  commodity, 
petrol,  as  fixed  from  day  to  day  by  the  brigands 
who  hold  the  world's  supply  in  the  hollow  of  their 
unclean  hands,  was  chalked  up  in  a  conspicuous 
position  every  morning,  in  order  that  consumers 


THINGS  197 

might  purchase  at  the  market  price  and  not  at  one 
fixed  by  the  foreman.  Sundry  members  of  that  well- 
organized  and  far-reaching  Society  for  the  Acquisi- 
tion of  Other  People's  Property  —  the  brotherhood 
of  chauffeurs  who  used  the  garage  —  were  put 
through  a  brief  but  drastic  course  of  instruction  in 
the  elementary  laws  of  meum  and  tuum;  and  one 
particularly  enterprising  member  of  the  craft,  to 
whose  possession  a  new  and  expensive  jack,  recently 
the  property  of  a  gentleman  from  the  country  who 
drove,  his  own  car,  was  traced  after  a  systematic 
and  quite  unexpected  official  enquiry,  was  directed 
to  remove  himself  and  his  vehicle  to  other  quarters 
as  an  alternative  to  prosecution. 

Having  in  the  space  of  three  weeks  achieved  a 
degree  of  unpopularity  almost  incredible  to  a  man 
who  has  hitherto  encountered  only  the  genial  side 
of  his  fellow  creatures,  Philip  turned  from  the 
garage  to  the  office.  Here  his  troubles  were  of  a 
different  kind.  Commercial  arithmetic  had  no  ter- 
rors for  him;  the  systematic  filing  of  correspond- 
ence and  the  compilation  of  cross-references  ap- 
pealed readily  to  his  orderly  soul.  His  difficulties 
arose  not  so  much  from  these  mechanical  aids  to 
commerce  as  from  the  human  agents  in  charge  of 
them.  Mr.  Atherton,  the  young  gentleman  who 
presided  over  the  show-room,  was,  as  already  indi- 
cated, a  square  peg.  The  careers  open  to  a  younger 
son  of  a  well-connected  but  impecunious  house  are 
strictly  limited  in  number.  Presuming,  as  is  prob- 
ably the  case,  that  the  family  resources  are  already 
fully  taxed  in  maintaining  his  elder  brother  in  the 
army,  and  that  he  himself  is  debarred  through  in- 


198  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

sufficiency  of  grey  matter  from  entering  one  of  the 
three  learned  professions,  our  young  English  friend 
is  forced  to  the  inevitable  conclusion  that  he  must 
earn  his  living  in  some  less  distinguished  field  of 
effort. 

"Not  in  trade,  of  course,  dear,"  says  his  lady 
mother,  with  the  air  of  a  female  Euclid  throwing 
off  an  elementary  and  self-evident  axiom.  "But 
anything  else  you  like." 

The  unsophisticated  observer  might  be  excused 
for  imagining  that  the  maternal  proviso  extin- 
guishes our  young  friend's  prospects  of  a  career  alto- 
gether. Not  so.  To  the  upper  classes  of  England 
there  are  trades  and  trades.  You  may  become  a 
land-agent,  for  instance,  without  loss  of  caste;  pre- 
sumably because  you  cannot  possibly  make  any 
money  out  of  being  a  land-agent.  You  may  also 
become  a  stockjobber,  possibly  because  a  stock- 
jobber's earnings  cannot  by  any  stretch  of  the 
imagination  be  regarded  as  the  fruit  of  honest  toil, 
You  may  go  to  Ceylon,  or  Canada,  or  California, 
and  there,  in  the  decent  obscurity  of  a  foreign 
clime,  live  by  the  work  of  your  own  hands.  You 
may  even  go  upon  the  stage,  in  a  gentlemanly  sort 
of  way.  But  you  must  not  go  into  trade.  You 
must  not  buy  or  sell  merchandise  in  the  open  mar- 
ket; though,  as  stated  above,  you  are  perfectly  at 
liberty  to  sell  what  you  have  not  got,  and  buy 
what  you  could  not  pay  for  if  you  received  it,  in 
the  world  of  Bulls  and  Bears. 

However,  —  no  one  seems  to  know  why,  but 
the  undisputable  fact  remains,  —  you  may  sell 
automobiles  for  a  living  and  remain  a  gentleman. 


THINGS  199 

It  is  not  known  who  discovered  this  providential 
law  of  nature,  but  ever  since  its  establishment 
well-born  young  men  have  swarmed  into  the  pro- 
fession; and  now  the  humblest  purchaser  of  an 
automobile  may  quite  reasonably  hope  to  have  his 
cheque  endorsed,  and  mayhap  a  cigar  accepted,  by 
the  descendant  of  a  duke. 

The  innovation  has  proved  a  commercial  success, 
too,  or  we  may  be  sure  that  it  would  not  have 
endured  in  the  unsentimental  economic  world  for 
a  twelvemonth.  Pace  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  the  im- 
maculate young  man  who  attends  to  our  wants  in 
show-rooms  knows  his  business.  He  is  a  fair  me- 
chanic, a  fearless  driver,  and  an  excellent  salesman. 
Customers  of  his  own  walk  of  life  confide  their 
wants  to  him  as  to  a  brother,  while  plutocratic 
but  plebeian  patrons  frequently  purchase  a  more 
expensive  car  than  they  originally  contemplated 
through  fear  of  losing  his  good  opinion. 

But  there  are  exceptions,  and  Mr.  Atherton  was 
one.  He  was  grossly  ignorant  of  the  elements  of 
mechanics,  he  was  unbusinesslike  in  his  manage- 
ment of  correspondence,  and  he  was  rude  to  cus- 
tomers without  being  impressive.  He  was  also  a 
frequent  absentee  from  his  post  on  matinee  days. 
The  indoor  staff,  down  to  the  very  office-boy,  took 
their  tone  from  him;  with  the  result  that  Philip,  in 
the  execution  of  his  duty  in  the  office  and  show- 
room, was  enabled  without  any  difficulty  whatever 
to  eclipse  the  degree  of  unpopularity  already 
achieved  by  him  in  the  garage  and  repair-shop. 
But  he  ploughed  resolutely  on  his  way. 

In  order  to  be  near  his  work  he  rented  a  small  flat 


200  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

in  Wigmore  Street,  and  furnished  it  according  to  his 
ideals  of  what  was  requisite  and  necessary.  He 
cooked  his  own  breakfast,  and  took  his  other  meals 
at  Frascati's. 

Each  afternoon  an  elderly  and  incompetent  fe- 
male called,  and  —  to  employ  her  own  grim  expres- 
sion —  did  for  him.  That  is  to  say,  she  consumed 
what  was  left  of  Philip's  breakfast,  and  made  his 
bed  by  the  simple  expedient  of  restoring  the  bed- 
clothes to  their  overnight  position. 

His  bedroom  furniture  he  bought  en  suite  in 
Tottenham  Court  Road,  for  seven  pounds  fifteen. 
In  his  sitting-room  he  installed  a  large  table,  upon 
which  to  draw  up  plans  and  specifications,  and  an 
armchair.  It  did  not  occur  to  him  that  he  required 
any  more  furniture.  He  cooked  his  food  at  a  gas- 
stove  and  ate  it  off  a  corner  of  this  table,  sitting  on 
the  arm  of  the  chair.  The  sole  ornament  upon  his 
mantelpiece  was  a  model  of  the  Meldrum  Carburet- 
tor, recently  perfected  and  patented.  He  made  no 
friends  and  went  nowhere.  A  woman  would  have 
(and  ultimately  did)  shed  tears  over  his  menage. 
But  he  was  happy  enough.  Things,  not  People, 
still  held  him  bound. 

And  yet  he  was  not  utterly  at  peace  with  his 
world.  It  is  said  that  a  woman  is  always  happy 
unless  she  has  something  to  make  her  unhappy, 
but  that  a  man  is  never  happy  unless  he  has  some- 
thing to  make  him  happy.  Up  to  this  period  of  his 
life  Philip  had  never  had  to  hunt  for  the  sources 
of  happiness.  His  work,  and  the  ever-developing 
interests  of  youth,  had  kept  him  well  supplied. 
But  now,  at  times,  he  was  conscious  of  a  shortage. 


THINGS  201 

Under  the  increasing  cares  of  existence  mere  joie 
de  vivre  becomes  insufficient  as  a  driving-power, 
and  demands  augmentation.  Philip's  present  life 
-  if  we  except  odd  hours  in  the  evening  devoted 
to  the  perfection  of  the  Meldrum  inventions  - 
was  an  ungrateful  business  at  best.  He  had  few 
friends,  and  was  not  of  the  breed  which  can  solace 
itself  with  the  companionship  that  can  be  pur- 
chased in  great  cities.  And  therefore  he  began,  inev- 
itably, to  draw  his  necessary  happiness  from  the 
bank  of  the  Future.  Most  of  us  come  to  this  in 
time,  for  few  there  be  that  are  fortunate  enough  to 
be  able  to  subsist  year  in  year  out  upon  current 
income.  When  we  are  young  we  draw  upon  the 
Future,  and  when  we  are  old  we  fall  back  (please 
God)  upon  the  Past.  So  Philip  began  to  live  for  the 
day  on  which  his  reforms  should  come  to  fruition, 
and  the  work  in  the  London  offices  find  itself  run- 
ning forward  on  oiled  wheels.  As  for  the  Present 
—  it  was  a  rotten  business,  but  difficulties  were 
made  to  be  overcome.  En  avantl 

But  beyond  these  practical  aspirations  lay  a 
fairer  region.  Philip  was  in  love.  Not  with  any 
material  pink-and-white  charmer,  but,  after  the 
perfectly  healthy  and  natural  manner  of  the  young 
man  before  he  grows  cynical  or  blase  with  experi- 
ence, with  Love  itself.  Only  that.  At  present  he 
was  more  concerned  with  the  abstract  than  the 
concrete.  At  this  period  he  was  inclined  to  regard 
matrimony  much  as  a  child  regards  cake  —  namely, 
as  a  consummation  to  be  achieved  only  after  a  long 
mastication  of  bread-and-butter.  At  present  he 
was  in  the  thick  of  the  bread-and-butter.  But 


202  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

when  he  had  worked  strenuously  for  perhaps  ten 
years,  he  would  assuredly  encounter  his  Lady  — 
he  had  no  clear  idea  what  she  was  like,  but  he  was 
absolutely  confident  of  her  existence  —  and  would 
marry  her.  Then  he  would  be  paid  in  full.  Troubles 
would  be  halved  and  joys  doubled,  and  life  itself 
would  be  the  sweeter  for  the  long  years  of  hard  ser- 
vice and  clean  living  and  high  endeavour  that  lay 
at  present  between  the  dream  and  its  fulfilment. 

Meanwhile  he  was  content  to  hitch  his  wagon  to 
a  star  and  proceed  with  the  day's  work.  Business 
first. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

PEOPLE 

FOR  six  months  Philip  continued  to  give  rope  to 
his  esteemed  colleagues  Messrs.  Atherton  and  Mur- 
gatroyd,  and  within  that  period  the  pair  duly 
hanged  themselves. 

Mr.  Murgatroyd  went  first.  For  a  whole  winter 
he  waited  patiently  for  Philip's  reforming  zeal  to 
spend  itself;  and  then,  finding  that  things  were  no 
better  but  rather  grew  worse,  he  retired  from  the 
conflict  like  a  prudent  man,  and  invested  his  not 
inconsiderable  savings  in  a  wayside  garage  upon  a 
lonely  stretch  of  the  Great  North  Road,  where 
motorists,  who  are  always  in  a  hurry,  would  not  be 
disposed  to  haggle  over  the  price  of  petrol  or  the 
cost  of  tyre-repairs. 

He  parted  from  Philip  without  rancour,  and 
another  and  younger  man  was  sent  up  from  head- 
quarters to  take  his  place. 

Mr.  Atherton  was  not  so  easy  to  eject,  and  was 
only  disposed  of  in  the  fulness  of  time  and  by  the 
process  of  filling  up  the  cup.  But  he  went  at  last, 
and  the  change  of  atmosphere  throughout  the  en- 
tire establishment  was  most  noticeable.  The  two 
clerks  and  the  office-boy  carried  out  their  duties 
with  what  is  known  in  transatlantic  business  circles 
as  "  a  punch";  the  books  were  put  in  order;  ac- 
counts were  straightened  out;  business  increased; 


204  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

headquarters  said  encouraging  things.  For  the 
present  Philip  decided  not  to  ask  for  a  successor  to 
Atherton.  He  felt  that  he  wanted  to  run  the  whole 
Universe  single-handed  in  those  days. 

Of  course  there  were  still  crumpled  rose-leaves. 
There  was  Brand,  for  instance  —  Brand  of  the 
repairing-shop.  He  was  a  strenuous  worker  and  an 
admirable  mechanic,  but  he  suffered  intermittently 
from  a  severe  form  of  the  popular  disease  of  the 
day  —  the  disease  which  has  its  roots  in  the  British 
national  policy  of  educating  a  man  sufficiently  to 
make  him  discontented  with  his  lot  and  then  leav- 
ing off.  Brand  was  a  Socialist,  or  a  Revolutionist, 
or  an  Anarchist.  Philip  could  never  find  out  which, 
and  the  muddled  but  pertinacious  Brand  could 
never  enlighten  him.  The  most  noticeable  feature  of 
his  malady  was  an  over-copious  supply  of  what  the 
repairing-shop  as  a  whole  termed  "back-chat."  Mr. 
Brand  was  a  stalwart  upholder  of  what  he  called 
the  dignity  of  labour.  He  declined  to  be  patronised ; 
he  smelt  patronage  as  an  Orangeman  smells  Pop- 
ery. He  also  refused  to  accept  an  order  with  any 
degree  of  cheerfulness;  though,  to  do  him  justice, 
once  he  had  expressed  his  opinion  of  it  and  the 
degradation  which  he  incurred  in  accepting  it,  he 
usually  carried  it  out  with  efficiency  and  dispatch. 
To  one  who  knows  his  job  almost  anything  can  be 
forgiven.  We  shall  hear  of  Mr.  Brand  again. 

Then  there  was  Alfred,  the  office-boy.  He  was  a 
stunted  but  precocious  child,  with  a  taste  for  music 
of  a  vibratory  nature.  He  believed  firmly  in  the 
adage  that  a  merry  heart  goes  all  the  way,  and 
whistled  excruciatingly  from  dawn  till  dusk.  His 


PEOPLE  205 

tremolo  rendering  of  "  All  That  I  Ask  is  Love  "  ap- 
peared to  afford  him  the  maximum  of  human  en- 
joyment. The  departure  of  Mr.  Atherton  involved 
him  in  some  financial  loss,  for  he  had  been  em- 
ployed by  that  vicarious  sportsman  to  execute  turf 
commissions  on  his  behalf  with  an  unostentatious 
individual  who  conducted  his  business  in  the  pri- 
vate bar  of  an  unassuming  house  of  call  in  Wardour 
Street.  Consequently  he  considered  it  only  just  to 
make  things  unpleasant  for  the  new  manager.  This 
object  he  accomplished  in  divers  ways,  which  will 
be  obvious  to  any  schoolboy.  Philip  suffered  in 
silence,  for  he  was  disinclined  to  further  dimissals, 
and,  moreover,  could  not  help  liking  the  impudent 
youth.  His  patience  was  rewarded;  for  one  day, 
with  incredible  suddenness,  the  nuisance  ceased, 
and  Master  Alfred  became  almost  demonstrative  in 
his  assiduity  and  doglike  in  his  affection.  Presently 
the  mystery  was  unfolded.  Alfred  had  discovered 
that  that  usurper,  that  tyrant,  that  slave-driver, 
Mr.  Meldrum,  was  the  identical  P.  Meldrum  who 
had  scored  the  winning  try  for  the  Harlequin  Foot- 
ball Club  against  Blackheath  on  the  previous  Sat- 
urday afternoon.  One  day,  after  office  hours,  al- 
most timidly,  he  approached  his  employer  and 
presented  a  petition  from  his  own  club,  the  Willes- 
den  Green  Vampires,  humbly  praying  that  the 
great  Meldrum  would  honour  this  unique  brother- 
hood by  consenting  to  become  one  of  its  Vice- 
Presidents.  Philip's  heart  warmed  at  the  com- 
pliment, and  he  complied  gladly.  He  achieved  fur- 
ther and  lasting  popularity  among  the  Vampires  of 
Willesden  Green  by  officiating  as  referee  in  their 


206  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

annual  encounter  with  the  Stoke  Newington  Hor- 
nets. Verily  the  road  to  the  heart  of  healthy  young- 
manhood  is  marked  in  plain  figures. 

A  third  and  by  no  means  unattractive  rose-leaf 
was  Miss  Jennings,  the  typist.  She  troubled  Philip 
considerably  at  first.  He  found  her  presence  dis- 
turbing. To  him  it  seemed  fundamentally  wrong 
that  a  man  should  sit  in  a  room  with  his  hat  on  while 
a  young  and  ladylike  girl  stood  waiting  at  his  elbow 
for  orders.  He  endeavoured  to  remedy  these  anom- 
alies by  removing  his  hat  in  Miss  Jennings's  pres- 
ence and  rising  from  his  seat  whenever  she  entered 
his  private  room  —  courtesies  which  his  typist 
secretly  regarded  as  due  to  weakness  of  intellect 
rather  than  the  instinct  of  chivalry,  though  she 
valued  them  in  her  heart  none  the  less. 

It  was  a  long  time,  too,  before  Philip  grew  accus- 
tomed to  dictating  letters.  His  first  incursion  into 
this  enterprise  gave  him  an  uncomfortable  quarter 
of  an  hour.  He  began  by  ringing  for  Alfred,  and 
asking  him  to  request  Miss  Jennings  to  be  so  good 
as  to  come  and  speak  to  him  for  a  moment.  His 
message  was  delivered  by  that  youthful  humourist 
with  elaborate  ceremony,  —  this  was  in  the  pre- 
Willesden-Green  days,  —  coupled  with  a  confident 
assurance  that  it  portended  either  a  proposal  of 
marriage  or  "the  sack."  Miss  Jennings's  reply 
Philip  did  not  catch,  for  only  Alfred's  raucous 
deliverances  could  penetrate  closed  doors,  but  it 
effectually  silenced  that  young  gentleman's  guns. 
His  only  discernible  retort  was  "  Suffragette!" 

Presently  Miss  Jennings  appeared,  slightly 
flushed,  and  shut  the  door  behind  her. 


PEOPLE  207 

"You  want  me,  Mr.  Meldrum?"  she  asked. 

Philip  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Yes.  Would  you  mind  taking  down  one  or  two 
letters  for  me,  Miss  Jennings?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  is  that  all?"  replied  Miss  Jennings,  quite 
composed  again.  "Mr.  Atherton  usually  just 
shouts.  I'll  go  and  get  my  things." 

She  returned  with  her  writing-pad,  and  taking  a 
chair  at  Philip's  elbow,  sat  down  and  regarded  him 
with  an  indulgent  smile. 

Philip  began,  huskily :  - 

The  Britannia  Motor  Company,  Limited,  Oxford  Street, 
London,  October. 

Miss  Jennings  sat  patiently  waiting. 

"I  know  that  bit,"  she  intimated  gently. 

Philip  apologised,  and  continued  hurriedly :  - 

"Dear  Sir  —  No,  I  expect  you  know  that  bit, 
too." 

"That  bit's  all  right,"  said  Miss  Jennings  calmly. 
"I  was  n't  to  know  who  you  were  writing  to.  It 
might  have  been  your  wife." 

Philip,  who  had  not  hitherto  realised  that  it  was 
possible  for  a  man  to  correspond  with  the  wife  of 
his  bosom  by  means  of  a  machine  operated  by  a 
third  party,  apologised  again,  and  added  quite  gra- 
tuitously that  he  was  not  married. 

Miss  Jennings,  having  secured  the  information 
she  required,  smiled  forgivingly,  and  the  dictation 
proceeded. 

We  are  in  receipt  of  your  letter  of  October  the  four- 
teenth. 


208  A  KNIGHT  ON   WHEELS 

"They  usually  say  'esteemed  communication,'" 
said  Miss  Jennings. 

"Thank  you,"  said  Philip  humbly.  "Please  cor- 
rect it."  Miss  Jennings  did  so.  Philip,  regarding 
the  curving  neck  and  prettily  coiled  hair  close  be- 
side him,  found  himself  wondering  why  such  a 
beautiful  thing  as  a  young  girl  should  be  compelled 
to  work  for  a  living. 

Miss  Jennings  looked  up,  and  caught  his  eye. 

"Well?'  she  enquired  shortly. 

Philip  coloured  guiltily,  and  continued :  — 

The  cylinders  you  mention  are  cast  in  pairs,  and  their 
internal  diameter  is  one  hundred  millimetres ;  or  — 

He  paused  again.  It  seemed  to  him  monstrous 
that  a  woman  should  be  compelled  to  waste  her 
youth  taking  down  dry  technical  stuff  like  this, 
when  she  ought  to  be  outside  in  the  sunshine.  If  a 
woman  must  earn  her  bread,  at  least  let  her  do 
work  that  was  woman's  work  and  not  man's  leav- 
ings. Her  real  mission,  of  course,  should  be  to  stand 
apart  from  the  struggle  for  existence,  rendering  first 
aid  to  her  man  when  he  was  stricken  and  compan- 
ionship when  he  was  weary.  But  to  sit  — 

Miss  Jennings  looked  up  again. 

"We  can  go  faster  than  this,"  she  observed  se- 
verely. "I'm  a  trained  stenographer." 

Philip,  collecting  himself,  dictated  an  elaborate 
formula  for  ascertaining  the  indicated  horse-power 
of  the  engine  under  discussion,  at  a  pace  which 
caused  the  trained  stenographer  to  pant  for  breath. 

When  he  had  finished,  he  said:  — 

"There  are  two  more  letters  to  do,  Miss  Jen- 


PEOPLE  209 

nings,  but  perhaps  you  would  like  to  rest  for  a  mo- 
ment." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Miss  Jennings.  "  I  'm  not 
made  of  sugar." 

Possibly  this  statement  was  made  —  as  many 
feminine  statements  of  the  kind  are  made  — in 
order  to  be  contradicted.  More  probably  it  was 
intended  as  a  test  of  character.  Whatever  it  was,  it 
failed  to  intrigue  Philip. 

"Very  well,  then,"  he  said,  and  proceeded  to  dic- 
tate another  letter. 

"Of  course  I  see  how  it  is,  Mr.  Meldrum,"  said 
Miss  Jennings,  unbending  a  little  as  their  joint  task 
came  to  an  end.  "You  have  not  been  accustomed 
to  working  with  a  woman,  and  you  think  she  can't 
work  the  same  as  a  man.  You  '11  soon  find  out  your 
mistake.  She  works  twice  as  hard,  and  makes  less 
fuss  about  it." 

"I  am  sure  she  does,"  said  Philip  meekly. 

"It's  kind  of  you,"  proceeded  Miss  Jennings 
maternally,  "to  consider  my  feelings;  but  we  shall 
get  through  a  great  deal  more  work  if  you  look  on 
me  simply  as  a  machine." 

"I  do  not  think  that  would  be  possible,"  said 
Philip.  "I  could  not  do  my  own  work  properly  if  I 
thought  you  were  not  comfortable." 

For  a  moment  Miss  Jennings  eyed  her  employer 
keenly. 

"Well,  try,  anyway,"  she  urged.  Experience  had 
taught  her  to  beware  of  gentlemen  who  were  too 
solicitous  about  her  comfort,  and  she  had  not  yet 
taken  Philip's  complete  measure.  "  I  've  been  earn- 
ing my  living  for  five  years  now  —  ever  since  I  was 


210          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

sixteen,"  she  added  carelessly  — "  and  I  have  found 
that  we  do  our  work  better  and  are  much  more 
friendly  and  comfortable  when  the  gentleman  I  am 
working  for  does  n't  worry  too  much  about  whether 
I  want  a  cushion  for  my  back,  and  that  sort  of 
thing." 

"  I  see  you  are  an  independent  lady,"  said  Philip, 
smiling. 

"Independent?  Yes,  that's  me,"  agreed  Miss 
Jennings.  "  You  would  n't  take  me  for  a  Suffra- 
gette, though,  would  you?  "  she  added,  with  a  tinge 
of  anxiety  in  her  voice. 

"  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  met  one." 

"  Well,  go  to  one  of  their  meetings  —  the  Park 
on  Sunday,  or  somewhere  —  and  you  won't  want 
to  meet  one  twice.  What  they  're  to  gain  by  it  all 
beats  me,  let  alone  the  show  they  make  of  them- 
selves. A  woman  has  enough  trouble  coming  to 
her  in  life,  without  going  out  in  a  procession  and 
asking  for  it.  That's  how  I  look  at  it.  Well, 
I'  11  go  and  type  these  letters." 

Miss  Jennings's  presence  gradually  ceased  to  af- 
fect Philip's  powers  of  concentration,  and  he  soon 
dropped  into  the  habit  of  regarding  her  as  she  had 
asked  to  be  regarded,  —  namely,  as  part  of  the 
office  furniture,  —  though  he  persisted  in  certain 
small  acts  of  consideration  not  usually  offered  to 
articles  of  upholstery.  Miss  Jennings,  finding  that 
her  defensive  attitude  was  entirely  unnecessary, 
promptly  set  out  with  the  perversity  of  her  sex  — 
or  perhaps  quite  unconsciously  —  to  stimulate  her 
employer's  interest  in  her.  It  was  a  pleasant  and 
quite  innocuous  diversion,  for  Philip  was  usually 


PEOPLE  211 

far  too  busy  to  take  notice  of  her  little  coquetries, 
and  had  far  too  much  regard  for  the  sanctity  of 
the  unprotected  female  to  respond  to  them  if  he 
did. 

He  had  grown  so  accustomed  to  regarding  his 
typist  as  a  mechanical  adjunct  to  the  office  type- 
writer that  he  suffered  a  mild  shock  when  one  day 
Miss  Jennings  remarked :  — 

"  So  Mr.  Atherton's  gone?  Well,  he  was  no  more 
use  than  nothing  in  the  office,  but  he  was  n't  a  bad 
sort  —  not  if  you  took  him  the  right  way  and  kept 
him  in  his  place." 

"  He  was  a  friend  of  yours,  then?"  said  Philip. 

"  Well,  he  used  to  take  me  out  sometimes." 

"Whereto?" 

"Oh,  the  White  City,  or  a  theatre.  It's  a  nice 
change  to  be  taken  out  by  a  gentleman  sometimes. 
When  you  go  by  yourself  with  your  sister,"  ex- 
plained Miss  Jennings,  "  you  go  in  the  pit.  When 
any  one  like  Mr.  Atherton  took  me  it  was  reserved 
seats  and  dinner  somewhere  first.  I  love  the  thea- 
tre. Don't  you?" 

"  I  don't  go  very  often,"  confessed  Philip. 

"Why  not?" 

"  I  don't  know.  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  have  no 
one  to  go  with." 

Miss  Jennings  collected  her  papers  and  rose. 

"  Well,  I  must  finish  these,"  she  said.  "  Will 
there  be  anything  more  this  morning,  Mr.  Mel- 
drum?" 

"  Thank  you,  that  is  all." 

Philip  surveyed  the  retreating  form  of  Miss 
Jennings  with  thoughtful  eyes,  and  his  heart  smote 


212          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

him.  By  evicting  the  incapable  Mr.  Atherton  he 
had  deprived  this  plucky,  chirpy  little  city  sparrow 
of  one  of  her  most  cherished  recreations. 

"  Oh  —  Miss  Jennings,"  he  said  nervously. 

Miss  Jennings  turned. 

"Would  you  care  to  come  to  the  theatre  with 
me?" 

Miss  Jennings's  slightly  anaemic  features  broke 
into  a  frank  smile. 

"It's  no  good  my  pretending  I  don't  want  to  go 
to  the  theatre  when  I  do,"  she  remarked;  "  so  why 
not  say  so?  Where  shall  we  go?" 

''Anywhere  you  please." 

"When?" 

"  To-night,  if  you  like." 

Miss  Jennings  considered.     ' 

"I  must  see  if  my  sister's  to  be  at  home,"  she 
said.  "There  are  just  two  of  us,  and  one  always 
stays  in  of  an  evening  with  mother.  May  I  use  the 
telephone?  My  sister  is  with  Goswell  Brothers,  in 
Finsbury  Circus." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Philip. 

Miss  Jennings  sat  down  at  the  roll-top  desk  and 
took  the  receiver  off  the  hook.  She  flatly  declined 
to  accept  the  assurance  of  the  operator  at  the  ex- 
change that  the  number  she  required,  — 

(1)  was  out  of  order; 

(2)  was  engaged; 

(3)  had  not  replied; 

and  in  the  incredible  space  of  four  minutes  suc- 
ceeded in  establishing  telephonic  communication 
with  a  place  of  business  almost  a  mile  away.  A 
much  briefer  but  equally  decisive  encounter  with 


PEOPLE  213 

the  Finsbury  Circus  office-boy  ended  with  the  pro- 
duction of  Miss  Jennings's  sister,  who  was  forth- 
with addressed :  - 

'That  you,  May  dear?" 

'*  T'ck,  t'ck,"  replied  the  instrument. 

"  I  want  to  go  out  to-night.  Can  you  stay  in  with 
mother,  or  are  you  doing  anything?" 

Apparently  the  reply  was  satisfactory,  for  Miss 
Jennings  turned  to  Philip. 

"That  will  be  all  right,  Mr.  Meldrum,"  she 
said. 

They  dined  at  Gatti's,  and  went  on  to  the  Gaiety. 
Philip  dropped  readily  into  the  etiquette  of  the 
amphitheatre  stalls,  and  provided  Miss  Jennings 
with  chocolates  and  lemon  squashes  during  the 
interval.  Halfway  through  the  second  act  he  de- 
cided that  this  was  the  pleasantest  evening  he  had 
spent  since  he  came  to  London.  What  Miss  Jen- 
nings thought  of  it  all  he  did  not  know,  for  she  did 
not  tell  him.  Having  speared  her  hat  to  the  back 
of  the  seat  in  front  and  dabbed  her  hair  into  posi- 
tion, she  sat  absolutely  silent,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
unwinkingly  upon  the  stage.  For  the  time  her  per- 
petual companion,  the  typewriter,  was  forgotten, 
and  she  lived  and  moved  in  the  world  of  romance, 
where  ladies  were  always  fair  and  gentlemen  either 
gallant  or  entertaining.  Occasionally,  without  re- 
moving her  gaze,  she  would  call  her  host's  atten- 
tion, by  a  half  -unconscious  gesture,  to  some  partic- 
ularly attractive  item  of  the  entertainment. 

When  all  was  over  she  sighed  resignedly  and  pre- 
ceded Philip  out  into  the  roaring  Stwnd.  Philip, 
scanning  the  street  for  a  disengaged  cab,  asked  her 


214  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

where  she  lived.  Miss  Jennings  gave  him  an  ad- 
dress in  Balham. 

"  We  had  better  walk  down  to  the  Embankment, 
he  said.  "  We  might  pick  up  a  taxi  or  a  hansom  out- 
side the  Savoy." 

Miss  Jennings  murmured  something  perfunctory 
about  the  facilities  offered  to  the  public  by  the 
London  General  Omnibus  Company,  and  then 
accompanied  him  to  the  Embankment. 

Presently  a  hansom  was  secured,  and  Philip 
handed  his  guest  in,  at  the  same  time  furtively 
paying  the  driver. 

"  Good-night,"  said  Miss  Jennings,  "  and  thank 
you." 

They  shook  hands,  for  the  first  time  in  their 
acquaintanceship.  The  cabman  and  his  horse, 
however,  did  not  know  this,  and  immediately 
feigned  a  studious  interest  in  something  on  the  Sur- 
rey side  of  the  river. 

Philip  walked  home,  and  let  himself  into  his  dark 
and  silent  flat.  On  turning  up  the  light  he  found 
that  the  lady  who  "did"  for  him  had  omitted  to 
clear  the  breakfast-table.  He  accordingly  set  to 
work  to  wash  up  himself,  knowing  full  well  that  the 
task  would  be  even  less  congenial  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. 

As  he  groped  philosophically  in  his  tiny  pantry 
for  a  dish-cloth,  it  occurred  to  him  that  to  a  lonely 
man  female  society  is  a  very  helpful  thing.  And  he 
was  right.  For  it  is  so  helpful  that  though  a  man 
may,  and  often  does,  exist  contentedly  enough 
without  it,  once  he  has  tasted  thereof  he  must  have 
it  always  or  feel  forever  helpless. 


PEOPLE  215 

And  yet,  every  day,  refined  young  women  are 
surprised,  and  shocked,  and  indignant,  when  a 
brother  in  London  suddenly  telegraphs  home  to 
say  that  he  has  married  a  girl  out  of  a  tea-shop. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

MY  SON   TIMOTHY 

PHILIP  and  Miss  Jennings  resumed  business 
faces  next  morning;  and  although  they  subse- 
quently indulged  in  other  jaunts,  one  of  which  —  a 
Saturday-afternoon  excursion  to  Earl's  Court  - 
included  sister  May,  no  cloud  of  sentimentality 
ever  arose  between  them  to  obscure  the  simple  clar- 
ity of  their  relations.  Miss  Jennings  was  much  too 
matter-of-fact  a  young  person  to  cherish  any  ro- 
mantic yearnings  after  her  employer.  She  was  not 
of  the  breed  which  battens  upon  that  inexpensive 
brand  of  literature  which  converts  kitchenmaids 
into  duchesses.  She  recognised  Philip  for  what  he 
was  —  a  very  kind,  rather  shy,  and  entirely  trust- 
worthy gentleman  —  and  accepted  such  attentions 
as  he  offered  her  with  freedom  and  confidence.  Nor 
did  Miss  Jennings  herself,  beyond  arousing  in  him 
a  dim  realisation  of  the  fact  that  the  elixir  of  life  is 
not  exclusively  composed  of  petrol,  make  any  direct 
impression  upon  Philip's  peace  of  mind.  At  present 
his  heart  was  too  full  of  applied  mechanics  to  have 
room  for  tenderer  preoccupations  —  a  very  fortu- 
nate condition  for  a  heart  to  be  in  when  it  belongs 
to  a  young  man  who  has  yet  to  establish  a  position 
for  himself. 

So  life  in  the  London  offices  went  on  for  two  years. 
It  contained  a  great  deal  of  hard  work  and  a  great 
deal  of  responsibility  and  a  great  deal  of  drudgery; 


MY  SON  TIMOTHY  217 

but  it  had  its  compensations.  Philip  still  played 
Rugby  football  in  the  winter  and  suffered  upon  a 
sliding-seat  for  the  honour  of  the  Thames  Rowing 
Club  in  the  summer.  There  were  visits  to  Chelten- 
ham to  see  Uncle  Joseph,  and  to  Red  Gables  to  see 
the  Mablethorpes.  There  was  the  ever-enthralling 
pageant  of  London  itself.  And  there  was  the  rap- 
turous day  upon  which  a  high  official  of  the  Com- 
pany arrived  upon  a  visitation  and  announced, 
after  compliments,  that  the  merits  of  the  Meldrum 
Automatic  Lubricator  (recently  patented)  had  so 
favourably  impressed  the  directors  that  they  had 
decided  to  adopt  the  same  as  the  standard  pattern 
upon  all  the  Company's  cars.  Would  Mr.  Meldrum 
enter  into  a  further  agreement  with  the  directors  to 
give  them  the  first  refusal  of  any  further  inventions 
of  his?  Those  were  days. 

Then,  finally,  with  a  hilarious  splash,  came 
Timothy. 

He  arrived  one  morning  to  take  possession  of  a 
six-cylinder  Britannia  touring-car  which  had  just 
been  completed  to  his  order  —  or  rather,  to  the 
order  of  an  indulgent  parent.  He  was  a  hare- 
brained but  entirely  charming  youth  of  twenty- 
two,  and  Philip,  who  encountered  far  too  few  of  his 
own  caste  in  those  days,  hailed  him  as  a  godsend. 
Each  happened  to  be  wearing  an  Old  Studleian  tie, 
so  common  ground  was  established  at  once. 

Philip  enquired  after  Mr.  Brett,  and  learned  that 
that "  septic  blighter"  (Timothy's  description)  had 
retired  from  the  position  of  Housemaster  and  had 
been  relegated  to  a  post  of  comparative  harmless- 
ness;  but  the  old  House  was  going  strong. 


218         A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

All  this  time  they  were  examining  the  new  car. 
It  soon  became  apparent  that  the  technical  know- 
ledge of  Mr.  Rendle  (Timothy)  was  not  of  a  far- 
reaching  nature,  but  his  anxiety  to  improve  it  was 
so  genuine  that  Philip  sent  to  the  workshop  for  a 
mechanic  to  come  and  lay  bare  various  portions  of 
the  car's  anatomy.  Presently  that  fire-eating  revo- 
lutionary, Mr.  Brand,  appeared. 

"  If  you  are  not  in  a  hurry,"  said  Philip  to  him, 
"  we  will  take  the  top  off  the  cylinders,  and  then  I 
can  give  you  a  demonstration." 

No,  Mr.  Rendle  was  in  no  hurry.  He  was  a 
young  man  of  leisure,  it  appeared. 

"  Only  too  glad  to  spend  such  a  profitable  morn- 
ing," he  said.  "  Usually  in  bed  at  this  time  of 
day." 

Mr.  Brand,  whose  views  upon  the  subject  of  the 
idle  rich  were  of  a  decided  nature,  looked  up  from 
a  contest  with  a  refractory  nut,  and  regarded  Tim- 
othy severely.  Then,  returning  to  his  task,  and 
having  exposed  the  internal  secrets  of  the  engine, 
he  plunged  into  an  elaborate  lecture,  in  his  most 
oppressive  and  industrious-apprentice  manner, 
upon  big-ends  and  timing-gears.  Philip  did  not  in- 
terrupt. Mr.  Brand  was  fond  of  the  sound  of  his 
own  voice,  and  was  obviously  enjoying  his  present 
unique  opportunity  of  laying  down  the  law  to  a 
wealthy  and  ignorant  member  of  the  despised 
upper  classes.  He  employed  all  the  long  words  he 
could  think  of.  Timothy  positively  gaped  with 
admiration. 

"  I  say,"  he  said,  "  you  ought  to  go  into  Parlia- 
ment," 


MY  SON  TIMOTHY  219 

"  P'raps  I  shall,"  replied  the  Industrious  Appren- 
tice haughtily. 

Evidently  with  the  intention  of  resuming  his  in- 
terrupted discourse,  he  cleared  his  throat  and  took 
a  deep  breath.  Then,  suddenly,  his  mouth  closed 
with  a  jerk,  he  turned  a  dusky  red,  and  assumed 
an  ostrich-like  posture  over  the  cylinders  of  the 
car. 

"There's  a  trunk-call  coming  through  for  you, 
Mr.  Meldrum,"  said  a  clear  voice. 

Philip  turned  round,  to  find  Miss  Jennings. 

"  I  shall  be  back  directly,  Mr.  Rendle,"  he  said 
to  Timothy,  and  accompanied  the  typist  to  the 
office. 

"Brand  is  a  great  orator,  Miss  Jennings,"  he 
remarked,  as  he  sat  down  to  the  telephone. 

Miss  Jennings  sniffed. 

"That  hot-air  artist?"  she  replied  witheringly. 
"  He's  the  laughing-stock  of  the  place.  Not  that  I 
know  him.  We  on  the  office-staff  keep  ourselves  to 
ourselves.  We  don't  — 

At  this  moment  the  trunk-call  came  through, 
and  the  conversation  terminated. 

When  Philip  returned  to  the  show-room,  Mr. 
Brand  had  completed  his  task  and  departed  to  his 
own  place. 

"  Our  chatty  friend,"  announced  Timothy,  "  has 
put  me  up  to  most  of  the  tips.  I  shall  be  a  prize 
chauffeur  in  no  time."  He  surveyed  the  gleaming 
car  admiringly.  "  She's  a  beauty.  What  should  I  be 
able  to  knock  out  of  her?  Sixty?" 

"Quite  that." 

"  Wow-wow?/"  observed  Mr.  Rendle  contentedly. 


220         A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"  I  don't  mind  laying  a  thousand  to  thirty  that  I 
get  my  licence  endorsed  inside  three  weeks." 

Philip,  who  regarded  new  machinery  much  as  a 
young  mother  regards  a  new  baby,  turned  appeal- 
ingly  to  the  cheerful  young  savage  beside  him. 

"  Don't  push  her  too  much  at  first,"  he  said. 
"  Give  the  bearings  a  chance  forja  hundred  miles  or 
two.  And  —  I  would  n't  go  road-hogging  if  I  were 
you." 

Timothy  turned  to  him  in  simple  wonder. 

"  But  what  on  earth  is  the  use  of  my  getting  a 
forty-horse-power  car,"  he  enquired  almost  pathe- 
tically, "  if  I  can't  let  her  rip?" 

"There  are  too  many  towns  and  villages  round 
London  to  give  you  much  of  a  chance,"  said  Philip 
tactfully.  "You  will  be  able  to  find  some  good 
open  stretches,  though,  if  you  get  right  out  west  or 
north,"  he  added,  as  Timothy's  face  continued  to 
express  disappointment.  "Or,  I'll  tell  you  what. 
Take  the  car  to  Brooklands,  and  see  what  she  can 
do  in  the  level  hour." 

The  face  of  the  car's  owner  —  whose  conscience 
upon  the  subject  of  road-racing  was  evidently  at 
war  with  his  instincts  —  brightened  wonderfully. 

"  That  is  some  notion,"  he  cried.  "  You 're  right. 
Road-hogging  is  rotten  bad  form.  We'll  run  this 
little  lad  down  to  Brooklands  —  oh,  so  gently!  — 
and  then  go  round  the  track  all  out.  Will  you 
come  with  me?" 

"Rather,"  replied  the  primeval  Philip  with 
great  heartiness. 

"  And  come  and  dine  at  the  Club  afterwards," 
added  Timothy,  in  a  final  burst  of  friendliness. 


MY  SON  TIMOTHY  221 

Within  the  exaggerated  saucer  constructed  for 
the  purpose  at  Brooklands  they  succeeded  in  cov- 
ering seventy-three  miles  in  sixty  minutes,  Tim- 
othy deliriously  clinging  to  the  wheel  and  Philip 
sitting  watchfully  beside  him  to  see  that  centrif- 
ugal force  did  not  send  the  new  car  flying  over  the 
rim  into  the  conveniently  adjacent  cemetery  of 
Brookwood. 

Thereafter  they  dined  together  at  the  Royal 
Automobile  Club,  which  seemed  to  Philip  to  con- 
tain several  thousand  members.  Members  swarmed 
in  the  great  central  hall,  upon  the  staircase,  and  in 
all  the  lofty  apartments  opening  therefrom.  There 
appeared  to  be  at  least  six  hall-porters,  and  there 
were  page-boys  innumerable,  who  drifted  about  in 
all  directions  wearing  worried  expressions  and 
chanting  a  mysterious  dirge  which  sounded  like 
"Mr.  Hah-Hah,  please!"  There  was  a  real  post- 
office  in  one  corner,  and  a  theatre  ticket-office  in  an- 
other. There  were  racquet  courts,  and  a  swim- 
ming-bath, and  a  shooting-gallery,  and  a  gymna- 
sium, and  a  bowling-alley,  and  a  fencing-school. 
Timothy  confidently  announced  that  there  was  a 
golf  links  somewhere,  but  that  he  had  not  yet 
found  time  to  play  a  round  owing  to  the  excessive 
length  of  the  holes. 

Eschewing  what  Philip's  host  described  as  the 
"  cock-and-hen  "  dining-room  (where  the  two  sexes 
could  be  seen  convivially  intermingled,  partaking 
of  nourishment  to  the  sound  of  music),  they 
ascended  in  a  lift  to  the  first  floor,  where  they  sat 
down  in  a  vast  refectory  of  a  more  monastic  type. 
Here  one  gentleman  greeted  them  at  the  door,  while 


222  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

a  second  took  Timothy's  order  for  dinner,  and 
passed  it  on  to  a  third.  The  dishes  were  served  by  a 
fourth  and  cleared  away  by  a  fifth.  The  same  cere- 
mony was  observed  in  the  ordering  of  wine. 

"  Less  fuss  up  here  than  downstairs,"  explained 
Timothy. 

Philip  enjoyed  his  meal  immensely,  though  he 
wondered,  characteristically,  if  all  these  ministers 
to  his  comfort  —  especially  the  page-boys  —  had 
partaken,  or  would  partake,  of  an  adequate  meal 
themselves.  Timothy,  who  contracted  friendships 
almost  as  impulsively  as  he  purchased  motors, 
chattered  to  him  with  all  the  splendid  buoyancy 
and  frankness  of  youth.  His  vocation  in  life,  it  ap- 
peared, was  that  of  Assistant  Private  Secretary  to 
a  prominent  member  of  His  Majesty's  Opposition. 
The  post  was  unpaid,  and  the  duties  apparently 
nominal.  But  Timothy  was  quite  a  mine  of  totally 
unreliable  information  upon  the  secret  political 
history  of  the  day.  He  told  Philip  some  surprising 
stories  of  the  private  lives  of  Cabinet  Ministers, 
and  foretold  the  date  of  the  next  general  election 
with  great  assurance  and  exactitude. 

Later  in  the  evening,  as  they  drank  coffee  and 
liqueurs  in  an  apartment  which  reminded  Philip  of 
Victoria  Station  (as  recently  rebuilt),  Mr.  Rendle 
conducted  his  guest  through  a  resume  of  several 
love-affairs  —  highly  innocuous  intrigues,  most  of 
them  —  and  added  the  information  that  "  that  sort 
of  thing"  was  now  "  cut  out"  owing  to  the  gracious 
and  elevating  influence  of  a  being  only  recently  en- 
countered, whom  he  described  as  "  the  best  little 
girl  that  ever  stepped." 


MY  SON  TIMOTHY  223 

"  I  don't  know  her  very  well  yet,"  he  concluded, 
in  a  burst  of  candour.  "In  fact,  I  don't  even  know 
what  her  name  is.  I  met  her  at  a  dance.  All  I  could 
find  on  my  programme  next  morning  was  *  tight 
pink  head-band.'  But  I  will  find  her  again." 

"  I  am  sure  you  will,"  said  Philip,  who  had  yet  to 
learn  that  these  final  reformations  of  Timothy's 
were  of  a  recurrent  character. 

"Thanks,  old  friend,  for  your  kind  words," 
replied  the  love-lorn  youth.  "  Tell  me,  how  much 
does  a  man  require  to  marry  on?" 

"  Thirty-five  shillings  a  week,"  said  Philip.  "  At 
least,  so  some  of  my  colleagues  tell  me." 

"  I  have  two  thousand  a  year,"  said  Timothy 
doubtfully.  "  I  don't  know  how  much  that  is  a 
week,  but  I  '11  work  it  out  some  day  in  shillings  and 
see.  Anyhow,  when  I  meet  her,  I  shall  take  her  out 
in  the  new  car.  Are  you  married?" 

"No,"  said  Philip. 

"That's  a  pity.  If  you  had  been,  your  wife 
might  have  chaperoned  us.  But  if  you  get  mar- 
ried, let  me  know." 

He  looked  at  his  watch. 

"  Ten  o'clock,"  he  announced.  "  Now,  what 
shall  we  do  next?  The  resources  of  the  Club  are  at 
your  entire  disposal.  Would  you  like  to  have  a  dry 
shampoo,  or  fight  a  duel,  or  buy  a  postal  order,  or 
what?  Or  shall  we  go  to  a  theatre?" 

Philip  mildly  pointed  out  that  most  of  the 
theatres  opened  at  eight. 

"  Then  we  will  go  to  a  music-hall,"  said  the  re- 
sourceful Timothy.  "  Waiter,  is  there  a  Tube  Sta- 
tion in  the  Club?  I  always  forget." 


224  A   KNIGHT  ON   WHEELS 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  waiter  compassionately. 
"But  there  is  a  cold  plunge-bath,"  he  suggested. 

"  No  good,  I'm  afraid;  but  thanks  all  the  same," 
said  the  polite  Timothy.  "  Get  a  taxi." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

PLAIN   MEN    AND    FAIR    WOMEN 

A  FORTNIGHT  later  Philip  filled  the  vacancy 
which  had  been  caused  two  years  previously  by  the 
removal  of  Mr.  Atherton  by  offering  the  post  to 
Tim  Rendle  —  an  offer  which  was  accepted  by 
that  ornament  of  the  leisured  classes  with  an  en- 
thusiasm which  would  have  surprised  the  horny- 
handed  Brand. 

The  experiment  turned  out  a  complete  success. 
It  provided  Master  Timothy  with  some  much- 
needed  employment,  the  Britannia  Motor  Com- 
pany with  an  admirable  addition  to  its  staff,  and 
Philip  with  a  companion.  Tim  was  a  capital  sales- 
man. He  soon  became  a  brilliant,  if  slightly  reck- 
less driver;  and  in  time  he  absorbed  a  fair  working 
knowledge  of  the  mechanics  of  the  automobile.  He 
possessed  a  charm  of  manner  of  which  he  was  quite 
unconscious,  and  a  unique  capacity  for  getting 
himself  liked.  He  fell  in  and  out  of  love  on  the 
slightest  provocation,  and  rarely  failed  to  keep 
Philip  informed  of  his  latest  entanglement. 

Once  he  offered,  as  a  supreme  favour,  to  intro- 
duce Philip  to  one  "Baby,"  who  presided  over  a 
small  tobacconist's  establishment  in  Wardour 
Street.  The  interview  was  an  entire  failure.  The 
siren  greeted  Timothy  and  his  abashed  companion 
most  graciously,  and  was  on  the  point,  doubtless, 


226          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

of  making  some  witty  and  appropriate  remarks, 
when  a  piano-organ  came  heavily  to  anchor  just 
outside  the  door,  and  its  unwashed  custodians  pro- 
ceeded to  drown  all  attempts  at  conversation  with 
the  reverberating  strains  of  "Alexander's  Rag- 
Time  Band."  Under  such  circumstances  it  was 
impossible  to  look  either  affectionate  or  rakish.  A 
conversation  conducted  entirely  by  means  of 
smiles,  however  affable,  and  nods,  however  know- 
ing, rarely  leads  anywhere;  and,  Timothy  having 
intimated  by  a  tender  glance  in  the  direction  of 
Baby  and  a  despairing  gesture  towards  the  door, 
that  his  heart  was  forever  hers,  but  that  for  the 
present  they  must  part,  the  deputation  filed  igno- 
miniously  out,  one  half  of  it  feeling  uncommonly 
foolish. 

Tim  was  fond  of  engaging  in  controversy  with 
Brand,  and  Philip  frequently  overheard  such  epi- 
thets as  "gilded  popinjay,"  and  "grinder  of  the 
faces  of  the  poor,"  exchanged  for  "dear  old  soul," 
and  "esteemed  citizen,"  on  the  occasions  when  ar- 
gument and  chaff  clashed  together  in  the  garage  or 
show-room. 

Tim  created  an  impression  in  another  quarter, 
too,  as  a  brief  scrap  of  conversation  will  show. 

"I  think,  Miss  Jennings,  that  it  would  be  a 
pretty  and  appropriate  thought  if,  for  the  future, 
on  arriving  at  the  scene  of  my  daily  toil,  I  were  to 
kiss  you  good-morning." 

"Think  again,"  suggested  Miss  Jennings. 

"Not  necessarily  for  publication,"  continued  the 
unabashed  Timothy,  "but  as  a  guaranty  of  good 
faith.  A  purely  domestic  salute,  in  fact.  These 


PLAIN  MEN  AND   FAIR  WOMEN    227 

little  things  have  a  softening  effect  upon  a  man's 
character." 

"They  seem  to  have  had  a  softening  effect  upon 
your  brain,"  observed  Miss  Jennings  swiftly. 

"It  would  do  me  good,"  urged  Tim.  "I  have  no 
one  to  kiss  me  now  that  my  dear  mother  has  been 
called  away." 

Miss  Jennings  looked  up,  deceived  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

"Is  your  mother  dead?"  she  asked,  more  gently. 

"Oh,  no.  She  is  very  well,  thank  you,"  said 
Tim. 

"But  you  said  she  had  been  called  away." 

"So  she  has." 

"Where?" 

"To  Holloway  Gaol,"  explained  Tim  softly. 
"She  is  a  Militant  Suffragette.  She  tried  to  burn 
down  Madame  Tussaud's.  I  miss  her  very  much," 
he  added  with  a  sigh.  "She  comes  out  about  twice 
a  week,  under  the  Cat  and  Mouse  Act.  I  meet  her 
at  the  prison  gate  with  sandwiches,  but  she  never 
kisses  me,  because  her  mouth  is  too  full.  Will 

you?" 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Rendle,"  remarked  Miss 
Jennings,  biting  her  lip, ' '  that  you  and  I  are  wast- 
ing our  time.  I  have  some  work  to  do  for  Mr. 
Meldrum.  I'll  trouble  you  to  get  out  of  this  office 
into  the  show-room." 

"Certainly,  Miss  Jennings,"  replied  Timothy, 
striking  an  attitude.  "Good-bye!  I  will  face  this 
thing  like  a  man.  I  will  fight  it  down.  I  shall 
probably  go  and  shoot  big  game  —  in  Regent's 
Park.  May  I  send  you  a  stuffed  elephant?  Or 


228  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

would  you  prefer  a  flock  of  pumas?  I  don't  know 
what  a  puma  is  like,  but  the  keeper  will  tell  me." 

The  clatter  of  the  typewriter  drowned  further 
foolishness,  and  Timothy  departed  to  his  duties. 
Here  the  incident  would  have  ended,  but  for  Miss 
Jennings's  feminine  inability  to  leave  well  alone. 

"Have  n't  you  got  a  young  lady  of  your  own?" 
she  enquired  one  day  of  Tim,  a  propos  des  bottes. 

"Yes,"  said  Tim  rapturously;  "I  have." 

"Then,  why— " 

Timothy  hastened  to  explain. 

"Because  I  have  n't  met  her  yet.  You  cannot 
expect  a  lady  to  kiss  you  for  your  mother,"  he 
pointed  out,  "until  you  have  spoken  to  her.  The 
object  of  my  affections  lives  in  a  castle  in  the  air, 
and  she  has  never  actually  come  down  to  earth  yet." 

But  Miss  Jennings's  attention  had  wandered. 

"  Kissing  is  a  queer  thing,"  she  said  musingly. 

"  It  does  n't  seem  so  after  a  while,"  Tim  has- 
tened to  inform  her. 

"  If  you  had  got  a  young  lady  of  your  own,"  con- 
tinued Miss  Jennings,  evidently  debating  a  point 
which  had  occupied  her  attention  before,  "  and  you 
were  to  kiss  another  one,  in  a  manner  of  speaking 
there  would  be  no  harm  done." 

"  None  whatever,"  agreed  Tim  heartily. 

"  What  the  eye  does  n't  see  the  heart  doesn't 
grieve  over,"  continued  Miss  Jennings  sententi- 
ously. 

"Selah!"  corroborated  the  expectant  Timothy. 

"  But  if  the  eye  was  to  see  —  my  word! " 

Miss  Jennings  inserted  a  fresh  sheet  of  paper 
into  the  typewriter,  and  continued :  — 


PLAIN   MEN   AND   FAIR  WOMEN    229 

"Seems  to  me,  kissing  another  young  lady's 
young  gentleman  is  just  like  picking  up  her  cup  of 
tea  and  taking  a  drink  out  of  it.  If  she  don't  get  to 
know  about  it,  no  one's  a  penny  the  wiser  or  a 
penny  the  worse.  But  if  she  does  —  well,  she  feels 
she  simply  must  have  a  clean  cup!  So  don't  you 
take  any  risks,  Mr.  Rendle.  You've  such  a  silly 
way  of  talking  that  I  don't  know  whether  you  have 
a  young  lady  or  not.  If  you  have  n't  one  now,  you 
will  have  some  day.  If  you  have  —  one  that 's  at 
all  fond  of  you  —  and  go  kissing  me,  you  will  be 
sorry  directly  afterwards." 

"The  Right  Honourable  Lady,"  chanted  the 
graceless  Timothy,  "then  resumed  her  seat  amid 
applause,  having  spoken  for  an  hour  and  fifty 
minutes.  Very  well,  I  will  leave  you.  I  shall  go 
and  hold  Brand's  hand  in  the  garage.  He  loves  me, 
anyhow.  Hallo!  Isay- 

Miss  Jennings's  serene  countenance  had  flushed 
crimson. 

"Have  I  said  anything  to  offend  you?"  asked 
Tim,  in  some  concern.  "I  am  awfully  sorry  if  I 
have.  I  was  only  rotting,  you  know.  I  had  no  idea 
Brand  was  a  friend  of  yours." 

Miss  Jennings,  recovering  herself  quickly,  re- 
plied with  some  asperity  that  he  was  no  such  thing, 
and  again  announced  that  she  had  some  work  to 
do  and  that  the  conversation  would  now  terminate. 

But  it  did  not.  There  was  a  magnetism  about 
Tim  which  invited  confidences. 

"  I  say,  Philip,  old  son,"  remarked  Tim,  as  they 
walked  down  Piccadilly  the  following  Sunday 


230  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

afternoon,   "are  you  aware  that  our  office  has 
become  a  home  of  romance?" 

Philip  did  not  reply.  His  thoughts  for  the  mo- 
ment were  centred  upon  more  absorbing  business. 
Presently  he  said :  — 

"  I  think  I  shall  take  a  long  run  to-morrow  and 
give  it  a  proper  trial  on  one  or  two  really  bad  hills, 
and  then  go  down  to  Coventry  and  see  Bilston 
again." 

Tim  sighed  gently,  and  replied :  — 

"Permit  me  to  remind  you,  O  most  excellent 
Theophilus,"  —  this  was  his  retaliation  for  being 
addressed  as  "my  son  Timothy,"  —  "that  to-day 
is  the  Sabbath,  and  that  we  have  left  the  Britannia 
Motor  Company  and  all  its  works,  including  the 
Meldrum  Never- Acting  Brake,  behind  us  for  the 
space  of  twenty-four  hours.  In  addition,  we  have 
washed  ourselves  and  put  on  celluloid  dickeys,  and 
are  now  going  to  the  Park  to  see  Suffragettes.  Let 
us  be  bright." 

"  Did  I  tell  you  the  patent  has  been  granted  all 
right?"  pursued  Philip,  referring  presumably  to 
the  Meldrum  Never-Acting  Brake. 

'  You  did,"  said  Tim  resignedly.  "  Seven  times 
yesterday  and  five  this  morning." 

"The  Company  simply  must  take  it  up,"  con- 
tinued the  single-minded  inventor.  "The  brakes 
of  the  Britannia  cars  have  always  been  their  weak- 
ness, and  now  that  we  are  building  heavier  and 
heavier  bodies  things  are  riskier  than  ever.  Our 
present  brake-power  can't  be  developed  any 
further:  even  Bilston  admits  that.  My  brake  is 
magnetic  —  a  different  principle  altogether.  Its 


PLAIN   MEN  AND   FAIR  WOMEN    231 

reserve  of  power  is  enormous.  It  would  stop  a 
motor-bus." 

"  Yes,  dear  old  thing,"  said  Tim  soothingly.  "  I 
am  sure  it  would.  And  if  you  don't  come  out  of  the 
gutter  on  to  the  pavement  you  will  stop  one,  too, 
and  then  I  shall  have  to  waste  a  day  taking  you  to 
Kensal  Green  in  instalments." 

He  linked  his  arm  in  that  of  his  preoccupied 
friend,  and  having  drawn  him  into  a  place  of  safety, 
repeated  his  former  question. 

"Are  you  aware  that  our  office  has  become  a 
home  of  romance?" 

Philip  replied  that  he  had  not  noticed  it. 

They  were  on  their  way  to  the  Park,  after  the 
fashion  of  good  citizens,  to  enjoy  the  summer  sun- 
shine and  regale  themselves  with  snacks  of  oratory 
upon  divers  subjects,  served  gratis  by  overheated 
enthusiasts  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Marble 
Arch.  After  that  they  were  to  take  tea  with  Timo- 
thy's lady  mother  in  Lowndes  Square. 

"  Well,  it  has,"  affirmed  Tim.  "  Citizen  Brand  is 
consumed  by  a  hopeless  passion  for  the  haughty 
Jennings." 

"  Rot ! "  said  Philip,  interested  at  last.  "  How  do 
you  know?" 

"  I  was  having  a  brief  chat  with  Miss  Jennings 
the  other  day  - 

"What  about?" 

"  We  were  discussing  the  affections,  and  so  on," 
was  the  airy  explanation;  "  and  when  in  the  course 
of  conversation  I  happened  to  mention  Brand's 
name,  the  poor  young  creature  turned  quite  puce 
in  the  face." 


232  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"  That  rather  sounds,"  commented  the  unsophis- 
ticated Philip,  "  as  if  the  hopeless  passion  were  on 
Miss  Jennings's  side." 

Tim  wagged  his  head  sagely. 

"Oh,  dear,  no,"  he  said.  "Not  at  all.  In  a  wo- 
man, that  is  a  most  misleading  symptom.  She  told 
me  all  about  it.  I  notice,"  he  added  modestly, 
"that  people  confide  in  me  a  good  deal." 

"My  son  Timothy,"  said  Philip,  "  you  are  a  gos- 
siping old  wife." 

"The  difficulty,  I  gather,"  continued  Timothy, 
quite  unmoved  by  this  stricture,  "  lies  in  the  fact 
that  they  seem  to  have  nothing  in  common  what- 
soever. Otherwise  they  are  admirably  matched. 
Socially,  Miss  Jennings  is  a  young  lady,  while  the 
Citizen  is  only  a  mechanic,  like  ourselves.  In  poli- 
tics, Miss  Jennings  is  a  Conservative,  while  Brand 
is  an  Anarchist.  In  religion,  Miss  Jennings  is 
Church  of  England,  with  a  leaning  to  vestments, 
whereas  Brand  thinks  that  heaven  and  earth  were 
created  by  the  County  Council,  under  the  supervi- 
sion of  the  Fabian  Society." 

"I  should  have  thought  that  it  would  have  been 
a  most  suitable  match,"  said  Philip.  "  They  would 
be  able  to  bring  each  other  such  fresh  ideas." 

"That  is  just  what  I  told  her,"  said  Tim;  "but  it 
was  no  use.  She  said  he  was  only  a  common  person, 
and  did  nothing  but  fill  his  head  with  stuff  that 
would  put  him  above  his  station  —  night  schools, 
and  debating  societies,  and  Ruskin,  and  Eugenics, 
and  —  and  Grape  Nuts." 

"It  seems  to  me  rather  a  laudable  ambition  on 
the  part  of  a  common  person." 


PLAIN   MEN  AND   FAIR  WOMEN    233 

"So  I  said,  but  I  soon  gathered  that  I  had  said 
the  wrong  thing.  It  appears  that  the  Citizen  has 
been  trying  to  elevate  Miss  Jennings's  mental  out- 
look, too.  He  took  her  to  the  theatre,  and  that 
seems  to  have  put  the  lid  on  everything." 

"Why?  I  thought  she  liked  the  theatre." 

"Yes;  but  the  situation  was  mishandled.  They 
met  by  appointment  outside  a  Lyons'  tea-shop  — 
Miss  Jennings  in  a  dressy  blouse  and  the  Citizen  in 
the  suit  which  he  only  wears  as  a  rule  on  the  anni- 
versary of  the  capture  of  the  Bastille — and  pro- 
ceeded to  a  hearty  meal  of  buttered  buns.  Then, 
instead  of  being  taken  to  see  Lewis  Waller,  as  she 
had  secretly  hoped,  Miss  Jennings  found  herself  at 
the  Court,  listening  to  a  brainy  rendering  of 
'Coriolanus'  played  by  an  earnest  young  re- 
pertory company  without  scenery  or  orchestra. 
I  gather  that  they  parted  outside  the  emergency 
exit,  and  went  home  in  different  'buses." 

Philip  listened  to  this  highly  circumstantial  nar- 
rative in  silence.  Finally  he  said :  - 

"  I  'm  sorry  for  Brand.  He  may  not  be  up  to  Miss 
Jennings's  standard  of  gentility,  but  he  is  the  best 
man  we  have,  and  I  intend  to  make  him  foreman 
next  week.  I  bet  you  he  finishes  high  up  in  the 
Company's  service." 

Tim  shook  his  head. 

"We  shall  see,"  he  said.  "Meanwhile,  let  us  go 
and  study  the  Suffragette  in  her  natural  state.  I 
hear  the  Cause  received  a  tremendous  fillip  last 
Sunday.  Two  policemen  were  jabbed  in  the  eye 
with  hatpins." 

But  the  Suffragettes  were  not  so  conspicuous  as 


234  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

they  had  expected.  They  did  discover  a  group  of 
intensely  respectable  and  consciously  virtuous 
females  haranguing  a  small  and  apathetic  audience 
from  a  lorry,  but  these  had  wrecked  their  chances 
of  patronage  from  the  start  by  labelling  themselves 
(per  banner)  "Law-Abiding  Suffragists." 

"We  want  Ettes,  not  Ists,"  said  Tim. 

At  length  their  attention  was  attracted  by  what 
looked  like  a  gigantic  but  listless  football  scrim- 
mage, some  four  or  five  hundred  strong,  slowly  and 
aimlessly  circling  about  upon  a  wide  grassy  space. 
It  was  composed  mainly  of  anaemic  youths  smoking 
cigarettes.  But  there  was  no  sign  of  the  ball.  All 
that  indicated  the  centre  of  activity  of  this  pecu- 
liar game  was  the  sound  of  some  twenty  or  thirty 
male  voices  uplifted  in  song  —  Timothy  explained 
that  the  melody  was  "Let  's  All  Go  Down  the 
Strand  and  Have  a  Banana"  —  somewhere  about 
the  middle.  A  couple  of  impassive  policemen  ap- 
peared to  be  acting  as  referees. 

Timothy  addressed  a  citizen  of  London  who  was 
standing  by. 

"What  is  going  on  inside  here?"  he  asked. 

"  Sufferingettes,  sir,"  responded  the  citizen 
affably.  "The  police  won't  let  'em  'old  no  meetings 
now,  —  not  off  no  waggin,  that  is,  —  so  they  'as  to 
just  talk  to  people,  standin'  about,  friendly  like, 
same  as  me  and  you.  There's  a  couple  of  them  in 
there  just  now"  —  indicating  the  scrimmage  with 
his  pipe.  "You'll  'ear  'em  arguin',  now  and  then." 

He  was  right.  Presently  there  was  a  lull  among 
the  choristers.  A  high-pitched  girlish  voice  became 
audible,  trickling  through  the  press. 


PLAIN   MEN  AND   FAIR   WOMEN    235 

"And  I  ask  all  of  you,  if  that  is  n't  woman's  work, 
what  is?" 

The  speaker  paused  defiantly  for  a  reply.  It 
came,  at  once:  — 

"Washin',  ducky!" 

The  crowd  dissolved  into  happy  laughter,  and 
the  choir  struck  up  "Meet  Me  in  Dreamland  To- 
night." 

Philip  and  Tim  moved  on.  Philip  felt  hot  and 
angry  that  women  —  apparently  young  women  - 
should  be  subjected  to  such  treatment  as  this.  At 
the  same  time  he  remembered  Miss  Jennings's  dic- 
tum upon  the  subject  of  asking  for  trouble,  and 
wondered  what  on  earth  the  parents  of  the  youth- 
ful orators  were  thinking  about. 

Presently  they  came  to  a  group  near  the  Marble 
Arch.  It  was  being  addressed  by  two  speakers 
simultaneously.  The  first  was  an  angry-looking  old 
gentleman  with  a  long  white  beard.  He  was  en- 
gaged in  expounding  some  peculiar  and  (to  judge 
from  his  apparent  temperature)  highly  contentious 
point  of  doctrine  to  a  facetious  audience;  but  it  was 
impossible  to  ascertain  from  his  discourse  whether 
he  was  a  superheated  heresy-hunter,  an  evangelical 
revivalist,  or  an  out-and-out  atheist.  This  is  a 
peculiarity  of  the  Hyde  Park  orator.  Set  him  on 
his  legs,  and  in  ten  minutes  he  has  wandered  so  far 
from  the  point  —  usually  through  chasing  an  in- 
terrupter down  some  irrelevant  byeway  — that  it  is 
difficult  to  tell  what  his  subject  is  and  quite  impos- 
sible to  discover  which  side  he  is  on.  As  Philip  and 
Timothy  strolled  up,  the  bearded  one  parted  com- 
pany with  the  last  shreds  of  his  temper,  chiefly 


236  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

owing  to  the  remorseless  hecklings  of  a  muscular 
Christian  (or  atheist)  who  was  discharging  a  steady 
stream  of  criticism  and  obloquy  into  his  left  ear  at 
a  range  of  about  eighteen  inches;  and  partly  by 
reason  of  the  distraction  caused  by  the  voice  of 
the  other  speaker,  a  pock-marked  gentleman  in  a 
frock-coat  and  bowler  hat,  who,  with  glassy  eyes 
fixed  upon  some  invisible  textbook  suspended  in 
mid-air  before  him,  was  thundering  forth  a  philippic 
in  favour  of  (or  against)  Tariff  Reform. 

With  gleaming  spectacles  and  waving  arms,  the 
old  gentleman  turned  suddenly  upon  the  heckler. 

" Out  upon  you! "  he  shrieked.  "  I  despise  you;  I 
scorn  you;  I  spit  upon  you!  Plague-spot!" 

"What  abaht  the  Erpostle  Paul?"  enquired  the 
Plague-Spot  steadily,  evidently  for  the  hundredth 
time. 

This  naturally  induced  a  fresh  paroxysm. 

"Miserable  creature!"  stormed  the  old  gentle- 
man. "Having  eyes,  you  see  not!  Having  ears, 
you  hear  not!  What  did  Charles  Darwin  say  in 
eigh  teen-seventy-six?  " 

The  crowd  turned  to  the  heckler,  anxious  to  see 
how  this  thrust  would  be  parried.  The  heckler 
pondered  a  moment,  and  then  enquired  in  his 
turn:  "What  did  the  Erpostle  Paul  say  in  one-oh- 
one?" 

The  crowd,  evidently  regarding  this  as  a  good 
point,  laughed  approvingly. 

"I  '11  read  you  what  Charles  Darwin  said," 
spluttered  the  old  gentleman,  producing  quite  a 
library  from  his  coat-tail.  He  selected  a  volume, 
and  turned  over  the  leaves  with  trembling  fingers. 


PLAIN  MEN   AND   FAIR   WOMEN    237 

"And  now,  gentlemen,  as  regards  this  question 
of  Exports  and  Imports,"  chaunted  the  Tariff  Re- 
form expert.  "I  will  give  you  a  few  facts  — 

"Fictions!"  amended  a  humorous  opponent. 

At  this  moment  the  old  gentleman  began  to  read, 
in  a  hurried  gabble,  what  Charles  Darwin  had  said 
in  eighteen-seventy-six.  The  heckler  allowed  him 
two  minutes,  and  then  suggested  cheerfully :  - 

"And  now  let's  git  back  to  the  Erpostle  Paul." 

And  so  on.  Our  friends  moved  away,  for  not  far 
off  Philip's  eye  had  discerned  a  familiar  figure  ges- 
ticulating upon  a  rostrum.  It  was  Brand.  He  was 
addressing  a  considerable  crowd,  upon  the  edge  of 
which  Philip  and  Timothy  now  took  their  stand. 
Philip  had  never  seen  his  colleague  out  of  his  over- 
alls before,  and  was  struck  with  the  man's  com- 
manding presence  and  impassioned  delivery. 

"Life?"  shouted  Brand.  His  face  was  dead 
white,  but  his  eyes  blazed.  "Life?  What  does  life 
mean  to  you?  "  He  surveyed  his  audience  with  pro- 
found contempt.  *  *  Beer  I 

The  crowd  accepted  this  bludgeoning  in  excellent 
part. 

"What  do  you  do  with  Life?"  continued  the 
speaker.  "The  Life  that  is  left  to  you  when  you 
have  worked  twelve  hours  a  day  for  some  capital- 
ist, and  slept  eight  more,  and  spent  another  two 
coming  and  going  from  your  work  —  your  spare 
time,  I  mean?  How  do  you  employ  your  Sundays? 
Do  you  go  and  study  Nature?  Do  you  read  ele- 
vatin'  literature?  Do  you  cultivate  your  starving 
minds?  No!  What  do  you  do?  You  can't  think  of 
anything  better  to  do  than  to  come  here  and  listen 


238  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

to  fools  like  me!  That's  the  sort  of  mugs  you 
are!" 

This  summary  of  the  situation  met  with  hearty 
endorsement  from  all  parts  of  the  audience. 

"But  it  ain't  your  fault,"  continued  Brand  com- 
passionately. "You  haven't  ever  been  taught 
what  it  means  to  enjoy  Life.  You  have  n't  got  the 
time!"  He  raised  clenched  hands  to  heaven. 
"Life!  Life!  It  should  be  beautiful  —  glorious  — 
sublime!  Look  round  you  now!  Look  at  those 
trees!  Listen  to  that  music !" 

The  crowd,  docile  but  a  trifle  mystified,  obeyed. 
Faintly  to  their  ears  across  the  Park  came  the 
tremendous  chords  of  the  Pilgrims'  Chorus  from 
"Tannhauser,"  played  by  the  Grenadier  Guards 
Band. 

Brand  sank  down  over  the  rail  of  his  platform 
until  his  arms  hung  limply  before  him. 

"Do  these  sights  and  sounds  thrill  us?"  he  de- 
manded hoarsely.  "Do  they  move  us?  I 'masking 
you.  Do  they?  No!  Not  a  thrill,  not  an  emotion! 
Why?  Because  we  have  n't  been  educated  up  to 
them,  you  and  me.  We 're  only  the  People.  We've 
always  had  to  go  to  work,  work,  work!  There's 
never  been  any  time  for  us  to  learn  of  the  beauty 
that  Life  holds  for  us." 

The  crowd  was  listening  now,  as  it  always  will  to 
a  cri  du  cceur. 

The  man  swept  on,  all  aflame. 

"Take  music!  What  does  it  mean  to  us?  No- 
thing —  absolutely  nothing!  Can  you  and  I  inter- 
pret a  symphony?  Not  on  your  life:  we've  never 
been  taught!"  His  voice  rose  to  a  scream.  "And 


PLAIN   MEN  AND   FAIR   WOMEN    239 

what  sort  of  music  do  they  hand  out  to  us  as  a  rule 
—  us,  the  People!  —  yes,  and  we  lap  it  up?  Rag- 
time! R-r-ragtime!" 

Philip  and  Tim  turned  away  soberly  enough. 
The  spectacle  of  an  immortal  soul  beating  its 
wings  against  prison-bars  does  not  lend  itself  to 
flippant  conment. 

"The  Citizen  may  be  a  muddle-headed  crank, 
Phil,"  said  Timothy,  "but  he  is  a  man  for  all  that." 

Philip  did  not  hear,  though  he  would  have  agreed 
readily.  He  was  wondering  why  the  haughty  Miss 
Jennings  should  patronize  Mr.  Brand's  meetings. 
Still,  there  she  was,  endeavouring  to  take  cover 
from  his  observation  behind  a  small  but  heated 
debate  which  had  arisen  between  a  gentleman  with 
a  blue  ribbon  and  another  with  a  red  rose.  Timo- 
thy caught  sight  of  her,  too,  and  promptly  rushed 
in  where  Philip  feared  to  tread. 

"Good-afternoon,  Miss  Jennings,"  he  said. 
"I'm  surprised  to  find  you,  with  your  strict  Con- 
servative principles,  coming  out  to  encourage  such 
a  low  entertainment  as  this."  He  indicated  Mr. 
Brand,  now  working  up  to  a  peroration. 

Miss  Jennings  stiffened  indignantly. 

"I  suppose  I  can  come  out  and  amuse  myself  lis- 
tening to  a  pack  of  nonsense  if  I  like,  Mr.  Rendle," 
she  said,  "the  same  as  any  one  else?" 

"What  do  you  think  of  Mr.  Brand  as  a 
speaker?"  asked  Philip. 

"I  was  n't  listening  to  him  particularly,"  said 
Miss  Jennings,  untruthfully. 

"What  do  you  think  of  his  views  on  ragtime?" 
enquired  Tim. 


240          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"I  think  they  are  silly." 

"Can  you  interpret  a  symphony,  Miss  Jen- 
nings?" asked  Philip. 

"No,"  confessed  the  girl  reluctantly;  "I  can't 
say  I  can." 

"I  believe  you  are  a  Socialist,  too,  Miss  Jen- 
nings," said  Tim,  shaking  his  head  sadly. 

Miss  Jennings,  after  an  unsuccessful  attempt  to 
wither  him  with  a  glance,  passed  on. 

Philip  received  a  scalding  cup  of  tea  from  his 
hostess,  and  lowered  himself  timidly  to  a  seat  be- 
side her. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Meldrum,"  said  Lady  Rendle.  "I  have  heard  so 
much  of  you  from  my  boy.  One  likes  to  meet  some 
one  one  knows  takes  an  interest  in  one's  belong- 
ings, doesn't  one?" 

Philip,  painfully  unravelling  this  sentence,  sud- 
denly caught  his  hostess's  eye,  and  realised  that 
an  answer  was  expected  of  him. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  sforzando.  "Oh,  yes!  One 
does." 

Graciously  directed  to  help  himself  to  something 
to  eat,  he  dipped  blindly  into  the  nearest  dish,  with 
the  result  that  he,  immediately  found  himself  the 
proprietor  of  a  bulky  corrugated  tube  of  French 
pastry,  with  cream  protruding  from  either  end.  He 
surveyed  it  miserably,  wondering  dimly  if  it  would 
be  possible  to  restore  it  without  attracting  atten- 
tion. He  was  frustrated  by  Lady  Rendle. 

"I  like  to  see  a  young  man,"  she  said  approv- 
ingly, "who  is  not  afraid  of  tea  and  sweet  cakes. 


PLAIN  MEN  AND   FAIR   WOMEN    241 

There  are  far  too  many  of  them  nowadays  who 
consider  it  beneath  their  dignity  to  take  tea  at  all. 
Caviare  sandwiches  and  whiskey-and-soda  are  all 
they  will  condescend  to.  And  now,"  she  added 
briskly,  "I  want  to  introduce  you  to  a  charming 
girl." 

The  quaking  Philip,  with  his  bilious  burden,  was 
conducted  across  the  room  and  presented  to  a 
pretty  girl  in  a  hat  which  for  the  time  being  de- 
prived its  wearer  of  the  use  of  one  eye. 

"This  is  Mr.  Meldrum,  Barbara  dear,"  an- 
nounced Lady  Rendle.  "Miss  Duncombe." 

Philip,  still  bitterly  ashamed  of  his  tea,  achieved 
a  lopsided  bow,  and  Lady  Rendle  departed  to  her 
own  place. 

Timothy,  who  had  been  engaging  Miss  Dun- 
combe  in  animated  conversation,  supplemented 
the  introduction  with  a  few  explanatory  comments. 

"Babs,  old  thing,"  he  announced  to  the  damsel, 
rising  to  give  his  seat  to  Philip,  "you  must  be 
gentle  with  my  friend  Theophilus.  He  is  fierce  if 
roused,  and  should  on  no  account  be  irritated  while 
having  his  tea;  but  when  properly  handled  will  be 
found  perfectly  tractable.  He  is  not  married." 

"Tim,"  replied  Miss  Duncombe,  "I  hate  you. 
Go  away!" 

"By  all  means,"  said  the  unruffled  Timothy. 
"See  you  at  the  Verniers'  dance  on  Thursday. 
Keep  me  all  the  odd  numbers  up  to  supper  and 
everything  after,  will  you?' 

"No,"  said  Miss  Babs. 

"Thanks  awfully,"  replied  Timothy  gratefully. 
"So  long!" 


242  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

He  departed,  leaving  Philip  alone  with  the  girl. 
He  regarded  her  covertly.  Miss  Babs  Duncombe 
was  a  fair  sample  of  the  ingenue  of  the  present  day. 
She  was  exquisitely  pretty,  beautifully  dressed;  her 
complexion  had  been  supplemented  by  art;  and  her 
tongue  spoke  a  strange  language. 

"Tim  is  rather  a  little  pet,  is  n't  he?"  she  ob- 
served to  Philip. 

Philip,  who  had  been  blinking  nervously  at  Miss 
Babs's  sheeny  silken  insteps,  looked  up. 

"He  is  a  great  friend  of  mine,"  he  said,  "but  I 
am  afraid  I  have  never  regarded  him  as  a  pet." 

"I  see  you  are  a  literal  person,"  observed  Miss 
Duncombe.  "I  must  be  careful.  What  shall  we 
talk  about?  What  interests  you?" 

Philip  pondered. 

"Machinery,"  he  said  at  last. 

"How  pathetic!"  was  Babs's  response.  "What 
else?  Do  you  tango?" 

"No." 

"Do  you  skate?" 

"Yes." 

"I  have  never  seen  you  at  Princes." 

"I  have  never  been  there,"  confessed  Philip, 
feeling  very  much  ashamed  of  himself. 

"How  tragic!  Where  do  you  go?  Is  there  an- 
other place?" 

"I  skate  —  whenever  there  is  a  frost,"  said 
Philip.  "I  am  rather  bucolic." 

"Oh,  you  mean  on  ponds,  and  that  sort  of 
thing,"  said  Miss  Duncombe  gently.  "You 
should  n't,  you  know.  It 's  not  done  now.  Are 
you  very  fond  of  exercise?" 


PLAIN  MEN  AND  FAIR  WOMEN    243 

"I  take  all  I  can." 

"So  do  I.   I  adore  it.  Do  you  hunt?" 

"Once  in  a  way." 

"Polo?" 

"No." 

"You  are  a  monosyllabic  man!  What  do  you 
go  in  for?  " 

"Rugby  football." 

Miss  Duncombe  shivered  elegantly. 

"How  very  quaint  —  and  how  squdgy!"  she 
said.  "I  am  afraid  you  are  a  Cave  Man." 

"What  is  that?" 

"Some  other  girls  and  I,"  explained  Miss  Babs, 
"have  a  sort  of  little  society  of  our  own,  called  the 
Idealists.  Our  seances  are  simply  too  thrilling.  We 
sit  on  cushions  round  the  floor  and  smoke  Russian 
cigarettes  and  drink  the  most  divine  liqueurs  - 
pink  or  green  or  gold  —  and  have  the  duckiest 
little  debates." 

Philip,  dumbly  gripping  the  tube  of  French 
pastry,  gaped,  quite  frankly.  This  eccentric  young 
female  was  an  entirely  new  type  to  him. 

"What  do  you  debate  about?"  he  asked  respect- 
fully, sipping  his  tea,  which  by  this  time  was  stone 
cold. 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Babs  vaguely,  "subconscious  in- 
fluences, and  soul-harmonies,  and  things  like  that. 
We  divide  men  and  women  into  various  classes. 
Men  like  you  are  Cave  Men.  Most  of  the  Cave 
Men  I  know  are  soldiers.  Then  there  are  Soul 
Men  —  actors,  and  musicians.  Then  creatures  who 
do  nothing  but  crawl  about  in  beautiful  clothes 
are  Thing  Men.  Men  with  shiny  faces  and  hot 


244  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

hands  are  Butter  Men.  We  divide  women  differ- 
ently. Most  of  them  are  Impossibles,  but  there  are 
a  good  many  All-Buts.  Life  is  so  varied.  The  hu- 
man soul,  with  all  its  infinite  shades  of  colour — 

Philip,  quite  intoxicated  by  the  exotic  atmo- 
sphere in  which  he  found  himself,  bit  heavily  and 
incautiously  into  the  roll  of  pastry.  Straightway 
from  either  end  there  sprang  a  long  and  sinuous 
jet  of  clotted  cream.  The  rearmost  section  shot 
violently  down  his  own  throat,  nearly  choking 
him;  that  in  front  descended  upon  the  inlaid  par- 
quet floor  in  a  tubular  cascade,  where  it  formed  an 
untidy  and  conspicuous  ant-hill. 

In  a  moment  one  of  Miss  Duncombe's  daintily- 
shod  feet  slid  forward,  her  skimpy  skirt  forming  a 
promontory  which  effectually  hid  the  disaster  from 
the  eyes  of  others  —  especially  Lady  Rendle. 

"Mop  it  up  quickly,"  she  said  in  an  excited 
whisper.  "Take  your  handkerchief  —  anything! 
No  one  will  see."  She  spoke  breathlessly,  with  all 
the  zeal  of  a  faithful  sister  screening  a  delinquent 
small  brother  from  the  wrath  to  come. 

Philip,  as  he  bent  confusedly  down  to  clear  up 
the  mess,  recognised  with  genuine  pleasure  that 
for  all  her  soulfulness  and  pose  Miss  Babs  Dun- 
combe  was  nothing  more,  after  all,  than  a  jolly 
little  schoolgirl  suffering  from  a  bad  attack  of 
adolescence. 

"That  was  the  sweetest  thing  that  ever  hap- 
pened," said  Babs,  after  all  traces  of  havoc  had 
been  obliterated.  "If  you  could  have  seen  yourself 
when  the  cream  squirted  out  of  the  end!  I  must 
tell  the  Idealists  about  it  at  the  next  seance.  Now,  I 


PLAIN   MEN  AND  FAIR   WOMEN    245 

must  not  laugh  any  more,  or  I  shall  get  a  purple 
face.  Tell  me,  is  my  nose  shiny?" 

She  submitted  her  peach-like  countenance  to 
Philip's  embarrassed  inspection. 

"It  looks  all  right,"  he  said. 

"I  don't  believe  you,"  said  Miss  Duncombe,  and 
extracted  a  small  mirror  from  a  gold  bag.  She 
viewed  herself  with  a  gasp  of  dismay 

"How  can  you  say  such  a  thing? "  she  exclaimed 
indignantly. 

Swiftly  she  produced  a  powder-puff,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  repair  the  ravages  caused  by  excessive 
mirth  in  a  warm  room.  The  unsophisticated  Philip 
gazed  at  her,  speechless,  and  was  still  gazing  when 
he  was  whirled  away  by  his  indefatigable  hostess  — 
Lady  Rendle  believed  in  keeping  her  male  callers 
circulating:  it  enabled  those  whose  conversational 
stock-in-trade  was  scanty  to  indulge  in  the  luxury 
of  repetition  —  to  the  side  of  one  Sheila  Garvey. 

Miss  Garvey  began  at  once:  — 

"Do  you  play  cricket  at  all?" 

"No,  not  now,"  said  Philip;  "but  I  play- 

Apparently  Miss  Garvey  had  no  desire  to  discuss 
other  pastimes. 

"Still,  you  go  to  Lords  occasionally,  I  suppose," 
she  suggested. 

Yes,  Philip  went  to  Lords. 

"And  I  hope  you  are  Middlesex." 

Yes;  on  consideration,  Philip  was  Middlesex. 

"My  fiance  plays  for  Middlesex,"  mentioned 
Miss  Garvey  carelessly. 

Philip,  secretly  blessing  this  unknown  cricketer, 
said  eagerly :  — 


246  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"I  should  like  to  hear  about  him1'  — implying 
that  the  rest  of  Middlesex  did  not  matter. 

After  that  he  enjoyed  a  welcome  rest.  By 
occasionally  supplying  such  fuel  as,  "What  did 
he  do  against  the  Australians  in  the  fourth  Test 
Match?"  or,  "What  does  he  think  about  the  off- 
theory?"  he  maintained  a  full  head  of  steam  on 
Miss  Garvey  for  something  like  twenty  minutes. 
He  sat  thankfully  listening  and  watching  the  clock, 
secure  in  the  knowledge  that  time  was  slipping 
away  and  that  Timothy  had  promised  that  their 
call  should  not  extend  beyond  half -past  five. 

"Another  five  minutes  and  we  are  out  of  the 
wood,"  he  said  to  himself. 

But  he  was  mistaken.  He  had  just  accompan- 
ied Miss  Garvey  (chaperoned,  of  course,  by  the 
fianct)  step  by  step,  match  by  match,  through  an 
entire  cricket-tour  in  the  Antipodes,  including  five 
Test  Matches  (with  a  special  excursion  up-country 
in  order  to  see  ihefianc£  score  a  century  against 
Twenty-Two  of  Woolloomoolloo),  when  his  hostess 
once  more  intervened,  with  the  inevitable  sen- 
tence:— 

"Mr.  Meldrum,  I  want  to  introduce  you  to  a 
charming  girl." 

Once  more,  with  leaden  footsteps,  Philip  crossed 
the  room.  Timothy  apparently  had  forgotten  all 
about  both  him  and  the  time.  A  despairing  glance 
in  his  direction  revealed  him  ensconced  in  a  win- 
dow-seat with  Miss  Babs  Duncombe.  In  that  fast- 
ness he  remained  for  another  forty  minutes.  When 
at  length,  restored  to  a  sense  of  duty  by  the  de- 
parture of  Miss  Duncombe  and  his  introduction  to 


PLAIN  MEN   AND  FAIR  WOMEN    247 

a  grim  young  woman  interested  in  Foreign  Mis- 
sions, Master  Timothy  set  out  to  reclaim  his  long- 
lost  friend,  Philip  had  passed  through  the  hands, 
seriatim,  of  a  damsel  who  had  besought  him  to 
obtain  for  her  autograph-book  the  signature  of  a 
certain  music-hall  comedian  (mainly  noted  for  an 
alcoholic  repertoire  and  a  deplorable  wardrobe) 
whom  she  affirmed  she  "dearly  loved";  another 
who  endeavoured  to  convert  him  to  the  worship  of 
Debussy,  not  desisting  until  she  discovered  that 
Philip  imagined  Debussy  to  be  a  French  watering- 
place;  and  a  third,  whose  title  to  fame  appeared  to 
be  founded  upon  the  fact  that  she  had  once  bitten 
a  policeman  in  order  to  demonstrate  her  fitness  to 
exercise  the  Parliamentary  franchise. 

"Now,  we  will  go  to  the  Club  and  drink  deep," 
said  Timothy,  as  they  turned  out  of  Lowndes 
Square.  "You  haven't  thanked  me  yet,  O 
brother,  for  your  P.S.A." 

Philip  eased  his  collar. 

"Timothy,  my  son,"  he  observed,  "I  fear  I  must 
give  up  all  thoughts  of  becoming  a  social  success. 
I  am  only  a  Cave  Man." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   PROVING   OP  THE   BRAKE 

ON  Monday  morning  Philip  rose  early.  He  had  a 
hard  week  before  him,  for  besides  performing  his 
usual  duties  —  and  their  name  was  legion  at  this 
busy  season  of  the  year  —  he  hoped  to  devote  an 
afternoon  to  an  exhaustive  trial  of  the  Meldrum 
Automatic  Electro-Magnetic  (described  by  the 
ribald  Timothy  as  the  Ought-to-Scrap-It,  Don't 
You-Forget-It)  Brake.  He  was  anxious,  later  in 
the  week,  to  run  down  to  Coventry  and  persuade 
the  conservative  Bilston  to  extend  official  recogni- 
tion to  his  offspring. 

He  devoted  two  hours  before  breakfast  to  the 
more  tender  adjustment  of  the  mechanism  of  the 
brake,  which  he  had  attached  to  the  service-car 
provided  for  his  use  by  the  Company.  The  car 
consisted  mainly  of  a  long,  lean,  powerful  chassis, 
destitute  of  ornament  and  fitted  with  a  skimpy  and 
attenuated  body  of  home  manufacture.  He  was 
assisted  in  his  operations  by  Mr.  Brand,  once  more 
unclothed  and  in  his  right  mind.  Brand  had  taken 
a  reluctant  but  irresistible  interest  in  the  evolution 
of  the  Brake.  Indeed,  one  or  two  practical  sugges- 
tions of  his  had  been  incorporated  in  the  final 
design. 

At  last  the  work  was  completed.  Philip  climbed 
out  of  the  pit  and  disconnected  the  inspection 
lamp. 


THE  PROVING  OF  THE  BRAKE   249 

"That's  great,  Brand,"  he  said.  "Thank  you  for 
all  your  help.  If  the  Company  takes  the  invention 
up  I  hope  you  will  accept  five  per  cent  of  the  first 
year's  royalties  as  your  just  commission." 

It  was  an  unnecessarily  handsome  offer,  but  Mr. 
Brand  was  not  particularly  cordial  in  his  thanks. 
He  would  have  preferred,  on  the  whole,  to  receive 
nothing  whatever  for  his  assistance,  and  so  be  able 
to  announce  that  Labour  (himself)  had  done  the 
work,  while  Capital  (Philip)  drew  the  profits. 

Early  in  the  afternoon,  after  a  crowded  morning 
in  the  office,  Philip  ordered  round  the  service-car 
and  set  off  upon  his  trial  trip.  First  of  all  he  tested 
his  Brake  in  the  surging  torrent  of  Oxford  Street. 
In  this  enterprise  he  received  invaluable  assistance 
from  that  strange  Animal,  the  pedestrian,  and  won- 
dered for  the  hundredth  time,  as  he  eluded  a  panic- 
stricken  party  of  shoppers  who  had  darted  out  of 
Marshall  and  Snelgrove's  apparently  for  the  ex- 
press purpose  of  getting  run  over,  why  it  is  that 
the  ordinary  citizen  —  even  the  self-confident 
Cockney  —  who  desires  to  cross  a  crowded  street 
should  invariably  put  his  head  well  down  and  run 
rather  than  keep  it  well  up  and  walk.  However,  he 
was  gratified  to  find  that  the  Brake  performed  its 
duties  without  undue  suddenness  and  held  the  car 
without  apparent  effort. 

At  the  Marble  Arch  he  turned  into  the  Park,  and 
gliding  sedately  past  the  long  rows  of  green  chairs, 
emerged  at  Albert  Gate  and  sped  down  the  Ful- 
ham  Road.  Presently  he  was  across  Putney  Bridge. 
Twenty  minutes  later  he  cleared  Kingston,  and 
leaving  Suburbia,  with  its  tramlines  and  other  im- 


250  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

pedimenta,  far  behind  him,  headed  joyously  for  the 
Surrey  hills. 

It  was  a  perfect  afternoon  in  June,  and  Philip, 
who  for  some  reason  was  in  a  reminiscent  mood, 
wandered  back  in  his  thoughts  to  his  first  mo- 
tor ride  —  that  ecstatic  and  epoch-making  journey 
in  Mr.  Mablethorpe's  fiery  chariot,  Boanerges  of 
blessed  memory. 

Boanerges,  alas,  was  no  more.  A  fighter  to  the 
last,  he  had  met  his  Waterloo  more  than  two  years 
ago  in  a  one-sided  but  heroic  combat  with  a  Pan- 
technicon furniture-van.  Always  a  strategist, 
Boanerges  had  taken  the  van  in  the  rear,  charging 
through  its  closed  doors  with  devastating  effect 
and  recoiling  into  the  roadway  after  the  impact, 
with  the  first  fruits  of  victory,  in  the  shape  of  a 
wash-hand  stand,  adhering  firmly  to  his  crumpled 
radiator.  But  his  triumph  was  momentary.  The 
radiator  stood  gaping  open;  the  cooling  waters 
imprisoned  therein  gushed  forth;  the  temperature 
of  Boanerges  rose  to  fever-heat;  and  as  the  faithful 
engine  refused  under  any  conditions  to  stop  run- 
ning, the  whole  sizzling  fabric  rapidly  heated  itself 
to  redness  and  finally  burst  into  flame,  furnishing 
the  inhabitants  of  Maida  Vale  with  the  finest  and 
most  pestiferous  bonfire  ever  seen  in  Watling 
Street.  So  perished  Boanerges,  and  the  wash-hand 
stand  with  him.  Pax  cineribus. 

Roaming  further  down  the  avenues  of  remem- 
brance, Philip  came  next  to  the  affaire  Pegs,  and 
the  house  on  Hampstead  Heath.  Performing  a 
brief  sum  in  mental  arithmetic,  he  calculated  that 
Pegs  would  now  be  about  twenty-two.  Perhaps 


THE  PROVING  OF  THE  BRAKE    251 

she  was  married  by  this  time.  Indeed,  it  was  highly 
probable,  for  Montagu  Falconer  was  not  precisely 
the  sort  of  person  with  whom  one  would  choose  to 
dwell  longer  than  was  absolutely  necessary.  Still, 
it  was  odd  to  think  of  such  a  little  girl  being  mar- 
ried. He  recalled  some  of  their  quaint  childish 
conversations,  and  was  conscious  of  a  sudden 
desiderium  —  there  is  no  exact  word  for  it  in  Eng- 
lish —  for  the  days  that  were  no  more.  It  would 
be  pleasant,  he  reflected,  to  have  some  one  beside 
him  now  —  especially  some  one  with  kind  brown 
eyes  and  wavy  hair  —  to  cheer  him  with  her  pre- 
sence and  act  as  a  repository  for  his  private 
thoughts  and  ambitions.  However,  his  own 
proper  Lady  would  come  along  some  day.  Would 
she  be  like  Pegs,  he  wondered? 

He  touched  the  accelerator  with  his  foot,  and  the 
car  began  to  breast  the  three-mile  slope  of  Wick- 
more  Hill.  It  was  on  the  farther  side  that  he  pro- 
posed to  test  his  Brake. 

Meanwhile,  along  a  road  running  almost  parallel 
with  Philip's  and  ultimately  converging  on  Wick- 
more  Hill  itself,  came  another  car.  It  was  a  Brit- 
annia, of  a  four-year-old  pattern.  It  was  driven 
by  a  gentleman  with  a  yellow  beard,  into  which 
streaks  of  grey  had  made  their  way.  Beside  him 
sat  a  girl.  The  gentleman,  her  father,  had  just  com- 
pleted a  sulphurous  summary  of  the  character  of 
the  man  who  had  designed  the  carburettor  of  the 
car  —  not  because  of  any  inherent  defect  in  the 
carburettor  itself,  but  because  the  gentleman,  for  a 
variety  of  reasons,  the  most  cogent  of  which  was  an 


252  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

entire  ignorance  of  the  elements  of  motor  mechan- 
ics, had  twice  stopped  his  engine  in  the  course  of 
five  miles. 

Presently  they  emerged  from  the  side  road  on  to 
the  summit  of  Wickmore  Hill.  The  gentleman 
stopped  the  car  by  a  fierce  application  of  the 
brakes. 

"I  shall  write  to  the  band  of  brigands  who  sold 
me  this  condemned  tumbril,"  he  announced,  "and 
ask  for  my  money  back." 

"  Considering  that  we  have  had  the  car  for  nearly 
four  years  now,"  remarked  his  daughter  calmly, 
"won't  they  think  we  have  been  rather  a  long  time 
making  up  our  minds  about  it?" 

"Don't  be  ridiculous!  How  could  I  detect  the 
fault  when  I  had  never  driven  the  car  myself  until 
to-day?"  snapped  the  car's  owner. 

"I  should  think,"  said  the  girl,  "that  if  there 
had  been  a  fault  Adams  would  have  noticed  it." 

This  apparently  harmless  observation  roused 
quite  a  tempest. 

"Adams?     That    numskull!     That    bumpkin 
Have  n't  I  been  compelled  to  dismiss  Adams  from 
my  service  for  gross  incompetence   only  yester- 
day?  How  would  he  be  likely  to  notice  faults  in 
a  car?" 

"I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  was  the  unruffled 
reply »  "except  that  he  was  a  trained  mechanic  and 
a  good  driver." 

At  this  moment  a  Gabriel  horn  fluted  melodi- 
ously in  the  distance.  Philip  was  coming  up  behind 
them,  climbing  the  hill  at  thirty  miles  an  hour. 
Seeing  a  car  in  front  of  him  at  a  standstill,  he 


THE  PROVING  OF  THE  BRAKE    253 

slowed  down  punctiliously  and  glanced  in  an  en- 
quiring fashion  at  its  occupants  as  he  slid  past. 

"Filthy  road-hog!"  bellowed  the  gentleman  at 
the  wheel;  and  Philip  went  on  his  way. 

The  gentleman  turned  to  his  daughter. 

"Now,  let's  have  no  more  nonsense  about 
Adams,"  he  said.,  "I  admit  he  had  a  wife  and  four 
children,  but  you  can  hardly  hold  me  responsible 
for  that.  Moreover,  he  was  a  yahoo.  He  decorated 
the  interior  of  the  garage  —  my  garage  — with 
chromolithographs,  and  his  wife  kept  wax  fruit 
under  a  glass  case  in  her  parlour  window.  I  have 
dismissed  him,  and  there  is  an  end  of  it.  Let  us 
cease  to  be  sentimental  or  maudlin  upon  the 
subject." 

"You  might  have  given  him  a  character,"  said 
the  girl. 

"If  I  had,"  replied  her  father  grimly,  "he  would 
never  have  obtained  a  situation  again." 

The  girl  changed  the  subject. 

"Don't  you  think,"  she  said,  "that  if  we  are 
really  going  to  call  on  the  Easts,  we  had  better  be 
getting  on?  And  go  gently.  The  foot-brake  is  a 
good  deal  worn,  and  the  side-brake  won't  hold  this 
heavy  car  if  it  gets  on  the  run  down  this  hill." 

"If  there  is  one  thing,"  replied  her  amiable 
papa,  "about  this  miserable  and  untrustworthy 
vehicle  which  can  be  relied  upon  at  all,  it  is  the 
efficiency  of  the  brakes." 

They  set  off  with  a  jerk. 

Meanwhile  Philip,  a  little  startled  at  the  recep- 
tion accorded  to  his  tacit  offer  of  assistance,  was 


254  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

running  down  Wickmore  Hill.  It  was  a  long  de- 
scent —  nearly  three  miles  —  but  was  not  steep, 
and  there  were  no  sharp  curves  until  near  the  bot- 
tom. It  was  a  useful  spot  for  brake-tests. 

"I  wonder  who  that  old  ass  was,"  mused  Philip. 
"Rum  bird.  One  of  our  cars,  too.  There  was 
something  familiar  about  his  voice.  Road-hog,  in- 
deed!" Philip  grunted  indignantly,  for  he  was  a 
virtuous  motorist.  "Now  I  will  really  hog  it  a  bit: 
this  is  a  lovely  piece  of  road.  I  '11  let  the  old  car  rip 
for  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  and  then  see  what 
the  Ought-to-Scrap-It  will  do.  There  was  a  girl 
with  him,  too.  I  wonder  what  her  face  was  like, 
behind  that  thick  blue  veil.  Now,  then,  old  friend, 
put  your  back  into  it!"  He  patted  the  steering- 
wheel  affectionately.  "Off  you  go!  .  .  .  No,  steady! 
Wait  a  minute." 

He  closed  down  the  throttle,  for  another  car  was 
coming  down  the  hill  behind  him,  and  he  intended 
to  let  it  pass  in  order  to  have  a  clear  road  for  his 
own  operations.  He  looked  round. 

"What  in  thunder  — "  he  began. 

All  was  not  well  with  the  oncoming  car.  The 
horn  was  being  blown  unceasingly,  and  some  one 
appeared  to  be  shouting.  As  Philip  looked,  he  saw 
that  it  was  the  Britannia  car  which  he  had  passed 
at  the  top  of  the  hill.  It  was  going  thirty  miles  an 
hour  and  swaying  a  little  from  side  to  side. .  Next 
moment  it  was  past  him. 

The  gentleman  at  the  wheel  turned  to  Philip  as 
they  shot  by. 

"We  are  running  away,  damn  you!"  he  bawled. 

It  was  what  geometricians  call  a  self-evident 


THE  PROVING  OF  THE  BRAKE    255 

proposition,  though  why  Philip  should  be  damned 
because  an  incompetent  stranger  had  allowed  his 
car  to  get  out  of  control  was  not  readily  apparent. 
Still,  there  was  no  time  to  sift  the  matter.  Some- 
thing must  be  done  —  promptly  —  or  there  would 
be  a  hideous  disaster.  Besides,  the  man  at  the 
wheel  was  no  stranger.  Philip  recognized  him  now. 

Philip's  foot  came  down  upon  the  accelerator, 
and  the  long  low  car  leaped  down  the  hill.  Philip's 
mind  was  suddenly  and  tensely  clear.  There  was 
only  one  thing  to  do,  and  the  Meldrum  Ought-to- 
Scrap-It,  Don't- You-Forget-It  Brake  would  have 
to  do  it.  Otherwise  —  ! 

"Lucky  there's  no  sharp  turn  for  nearly  two 
miles,"  he  muttered  to  himself  between  his  locked 
teeth.  "Pray  God  we  meet  nothing  coming  up  the 
other  way!  Now  to  get  past!  My  word,  they  are 
swinging!" 

Next  moment  he  was  abreast  of  the  flying  car, 

"Get  right  behind  me,  if  you  can,"  he  shouted, 
"and  I'll  try  to  stop  you." 

The  only  response  to  this  appeal  was  another 
swerve  on  the  part  of  the  runaway,  in  avoiding 
which  Philip  nearly  cannoned  into  a  tree  at  the 
side  of  the  road.  The  gentleman  with  the  beard 
appeared  to  have  lost  his  head  altogether.  His 
efforts  to  avoid  disaster  were  now  limited  to  swear- 
ing volubly  and  blowing  his  horn.  Philip  noted 
that  the  side-brake  was  full  on;  but  it  seemed  to 
have  little  effect  in  checking  the  car. 

"Stick  to  your  wheel,  you  fool ! "  he  shouted  with 
the  full  strength  of  his  lungs. 

The  gentleman  responded  with  a  fresh  outburst 


256  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

of  vocal  and  instrumental  exuberance.  But  sud- 
denly, just  as  Philip  shot  ahead,  the  girl  in  the  blue 
veil  leaned  over  and  gripped  the  wheel  in  her  two 
hands.  Her  parent  immediately  relinquished  his 
hold  altogether,  and  devoted  his  undivided  atten- 
tion to  the  horn. 

Then  followed  the  fullest  and  most  eventful 
minute  of  Philip's  life. 

He  was  ahead  now  —  going  perhaps  fifty  miles 
an  hour,  but  clear  in  front  of  the  other  car.  He 
knew  he  must  act  at  once,  for  there  was  barely 
half  a  mile  of  straight  road  left,  and  there  were  two 
sharp  turns  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  What  he  had  to 
do  must  be  done  instantaneously,  and  called  for 
superb  driving.  He  wondered  if  the  girl  behind 
could  hold  on  long  enough  to  give  him  a  chance. 
To  steer  a  car  steadily  from  any  position  except  the 
driver's  seat  is  a  difficult  enough  performance,  but 
to  accomplish  it  when  the  seat  is  occupied  by  a 
gesticulating  lunatic  is  almost  a  physical  impossi- 
bility. Still,  Philip  had  had  time  to  note  the 
prompt  and  decisive  way  in  which  this  girl  had 
grasped  his  purpose  and  carried  out  his  instruc- 
tions. He  felt  somehow  that  those  small  gloved 
hands  could  be  trusted  to  cling  gamely  on  until  the 
end  of  all  things. 

Glancing  back,  he  saw  that  the  other  car  was 
now  right  behind  him  —  seven  yards  or  so.  The 
moment  had  come  —  the  inventor's  moment. 

"I  told  Timothy  it  would  stop  a  motor-bus,"  he 
observed  to  himself.  "We'll  see  if  it  will  stop  two 


cars 


The  Brake  was  controlled  by  a  switch  upon  the 


THE  PROVING  OF  THE  BRAKE     257 

steering-pillar.  The  farther  the  switch  was  pulled 
over  the  stronger  became  the  current  which  sup- 
plied the  Brake's  magnetic  force.  But  it  was  not 
required  yet.  Philip  hastily  jammed  on  the  side- 
brake,  which,  though  it  could  not  check,  sensibly 
moderated  the  headlong  speed  of  his  car;  and  then, 
getting  both  hands  back  to  the  steering-wheel, 
braced  himself,  and  leaning  well  back,  waited  for 
the  impact  of  the  runaway. 

It  came,  but  not  too  severely.  By  good  luck  or 
good  management  the  pursuing  car  struck  Philip's 
fairly  and  squarely  in  the  back,  and  the  two  raced 
on  together  down  the  hill,  locked  together  like 
engine  and  tender,  the  sorely  handicapped  little 
chauffeuse  behind  exerting  all  her  small  strength  to 
keep  her  leading  wheels  from  slewing  round.  The 
shock  of  collision,  coming  where  it  did,  sent  a  thrill 
of  satisfaction  coursing  up  Philip's  spine. 

"Oh,  well  done,  well  done,  little  girl,  whoever 
you  are!"  he  murmured  enthusiastically.  "That 
gives  us  a  Chinaman's  chance,  anyhow.  Now!" 

He  pulled  the  switch  of  the  Brake  slowly  over, 
three  parts  of  the  way. 

For  a  moment  nothing  seemed  to  happen;  and 
then  —  oh,  rapture  —  the  rocking  cars  began  to 
slow  down.  The  Brake  was  answering  to  the  call. 
The  strain  was  immense,  but  the  work  was  good. 
On  they  tore,  but  more  slowly  and  yet  more  slowly. 
They  were  barely  going  twenty-five  miles  an  hour 
now. 

Philip  leaned  hard  back,  gripping  the  wheel,  and 
exulted.  They  were  going  to  stop.  The  Brake  was 
proved.  Suddenly  his  eye  caught  a  glimpse  of  a 


258  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

red  triangle.  They  were  coming  to  the  turns  — 
sooner  than  he  expected,  for  the  pace  had  been 
terrific,  and  the  whole  incident  had  barely  lasted  a 
hundred  seconds  as  yet. 

Well,  they  would  just  manage  it,  he  calculated, 
provided  that  the  smoking  brake-shoes  held  out. 
They  were  running  at  a  comparatively  moderate 
pace  by  this  time.  A  single  car  could  have  taken 
the  approaching  corner  comfortably.  The  danger 
lay  in  the  likelihood  that  the  car  behind  would 
skid.  Still,  the  little  girl  was  steering  like  a  Trojan. 
They  ought  to  get  off  with  a  shaking  at  the  worst. 

Round  to  the  left  they  swung.  Philip,  glancing 
over  his  shoulder,  could  see  the  girl  behind  franti- 
cally wrestling  with  her  steering-wheel.  Next  mo- 
ment they  were  round.  She  had  succeeded.  The 
road  was  almost  level  now,  but  the  second  corner 
was  imminent,  and  in  the  reverse  direction,  for  this 
was  what  was  technically  known  as  an  "S"  turn. 

Philip  pulled  his  brake-switch  into  the  very  last 
notch  and  put  his  wheel  hard  over  to  the  right. 

What  happened  next  he  never  rightly  knew.  His 
car  took  the  corner  well  enough.  But  then,  instead 
of  proceeding  upon  its  appointed  way,  it  continued 
to  come  round,  and  still  farther  round,  in  a  giddy, 
sickening  circle,  until  it  threatened  to  mount  the 
bank  beside  the  road.  Philip  promptly  spun  his 
wheel  over  to  the  left,  but  all  in  vain.  Next  mo- 
ment his  car  was  right  across  the  road;  for  the  car 
behind,  instead  of  following  its  leader  round  the 
bend,  had  pursued  a  straight  course,  pushing  the 
tail  of  Philip's  long  chassis  before  it.  Philip  could 
feel  his  back-tyres  sliding  sideways  over  the  smooth 


THE  PROVING  OF  THE  BRAKE    259 

asphalt.  He  felt  utterly  helpless.  The  Brake  could 
do  no  more.  It  was  not  designed  to  prevent  cars 
from  running  away  laterally. 

Suddenly  there  came  a  loud  report.  "Back 
tyre!"  muttered  Philip  mechanically — and  the  car 
gave  a  sudden  lurch  to  the  left.  Then,  without  warn- 
ing, it  turned  completely  upside  down.  The  other 
car,  like  a  victor  who  sets  his  foot  upon  the  neck  of 
the  vanquished,  mounted  proudly  on  the  wreck  of 
its  prostrate  preserver,  and  there  poised  itself — 
stationary  at  last. 

Philip,  unable  to  free  himself,  went  over  with  his 
car.  "I  rather  fancy  the  old  man  must  have  been 
putting  his  oar  in  again,"  he  said  to  himself,  as  the 
road  rose  suddenly  up  to  meet  him. 

So  the  Meldrum  Automatic  Electro-Magnetic 
Brake  was  proved.  When  they  examined  the  car 
afterwards  it  was  found  that  though  the  brake- 
shoes  were  scorched  and  damaged  beyond  recall, 
the  Brake  itself  was  in  perfect  order. 

The  other  car  was  hardly  injured.  Its  occupants 
were  unhurt. 

But  Philip  did  not  know  this.  He  had  ceased  to 
take  any  active  interest  in  the  proceedings. 

Only  for  one  brief  moment  during  the  subsequent 
twenty-four  hours  did  he  exhibit  any  sign  of  intel- 
ligence at  all.  This  was  when  he  woke  up  on  his 
way  back  to  London.  He  found  himself  lying  in  a 
smooth-running  vehicle  of  some  kind.  The  light 
was  uncertain,  and  his  vision  was  somewhat  ob- 
scured by  bandages;  but  he  was  dimly  conscious 


260  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

that  some  one  was  sitting  beside  him  —  close 
beside  him. 

He  made  an  inarticulate  sound.  Instantly  the 
figure  stirred  and  a  face  came  very  close  to  his. 

Philip  surveyed  the  face  gravely,  and  re- 
marked :  — 

"Hallo,  Pegs!" 

Then  everything  became  blank  again. 


BOOK  THREE 
OMNIA  VINCIT! 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE    BIG    THING 


"NiNE  o'clock,  sir." 

The  pert  young  housemaid  entered  Philip's  bed- 
room, deposited  a  basin  of  hot  water  beside  his 
bed,  drew  up  the  blinds,  surveyed  Tite  Street,  Chel- 
sea, in  a  disparaging  fashion,  and  announced  that 
it  was  a  nice  day  for  the  ducks. 

Philip,  gathering  from  this  observation  that  the 
weather  was  inclined  to  be  inclement,  replied 
sleepily  but  politely  that  rain  made  little  or  no 
difference  to  his  plans  at  present. 

**  I  dare  say,"  retorted  the  housemaid.  "  But  it 's 
me  afternoon  out.  And  please,  sir,"  she  added, 
recollecting  herself,  "Miss  Marguerite  wants  to 
know  if  you  are  ready  for  your  breakfast." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Philip.  "In  a  very  few 
minutes." 

When  the  housemaid  had  departed,  he  sat  up  in 
bed  as  completely  as  splints  and  bandages  would 
permit,  and  prepared  for  breakfast.  Then  he  lay 
back  in  bed  and  waited,  with  his  eyes  fixed  unwink- 
ingly  upon  the  door. 

Presently  there  was  a  rattle  of  silver  and  crock- 
ery outside,  accompanied  by  a  cheerfully  whistled 
tune,  and  breakfast  entered  upon  a  tray. 

Behind  the  tray  came  Peggy  Falconer,  who  had 


264  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

been  Philip's  hostess  now  for  the  best  part  of  three 
weeks. 

She  greeted  her  patient  with  a  maternal  smile, 
and  enquired:  — 

"Slept  well?" 

"  Very  well,  thank  you." 

"  Leg  troublesome?  " 

"No.  It  seems  to  be  joining  up  in  first-class 
style  now." 

"Concussion  all  gone?" 

Philip  knuckled  his  head  vigorously  all  over,  to 
show  that  his  skull  was  once  more  free  from  dents. 

"  In  that  case,"  announced  Peggy,  "  I  may  pos- 
sibly let  you  have  some  letters  to  read.  But  I  shall 
wait  until  the  doctor  has  seen  you." 

Philip,  who  had  no  desire  whatever  to  receive 
letters,  —  nor  would  have,  until  Fate  separated 
him  again  from  Miss  Peggy  Falconer,  —  thanked 
his  hostess  meekly,  and  proceeded  to  decapitate  an 

egg- 

"  Do  you  feel  strong  enough  to  receive  a  visitor 
to-day?"  continued  Peggy. 

"Who?  Tim?" 

"  I  did  n't  mean  Tim,  though  I  have  n't  the 
slightest  doubt  that  he  will  call,"  said  Peggy,  with 
an  enigmatic  smile.  "  This  is  a  new  visitor  —  Miss 
Leslie.  She  used  to  be  mother's  greatest  friend, 
and  —  and  she  has  always  been  very  good  to  me. 
I  should  like  you  to  know  her." 

At  this  point  the  conversation  was  interrupted 
by  a  roar  from  the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

"That  is  Dad,"  explained  Peggy,  quite  need- 
lessly. 


THE  BIG  THING  265 

Montagu  Falconer  invariably  adopted  this 
method  of  announcing  his  readiness  for  breakfast. 
A  commotion  upon  the  ground  floor  merely  signi- 
fied to  Philip  the  intelligence  that  it  was  about 
half-past  nine,  or  half-past  one,  or  eight  in  the 
evening. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  am  keeping  you,"  he  said. 

"  Quite  right,"  assented  Peggy.  "  You  are.  Eat 
up  your  breakfast  like  a  good  little  boy,  and  per- 
haps I  will  come  and  see  you  again  later." 

And  she  sped  out  of  the  room  and  down  the 
stair,  to  quell  a  bread-riot.  A  woman  with  two 
men  on  her  hands  is,  indeed,  a  busy  person. 

Philip  munched  his  breakfast  in  utter  content. 
He  was  convalescent  now,  though  the  first  week  or 
so  had  been  a  bad  time.  He  was  only  intermit- 
tently conscious,  and  his  injuries  had  combined  to 
render  sleep  a  nightmare  and  wakefulness  a  throb- 
bing torment.  But  he  would  have  gone  through  it 
all  again,  and  yet  again,  cheerfully,  provided  he 
could  have  remained  in  the  hands  of  his  present 
nurse.  In  the  dim  and  distant  past  he  had  recol- 
lections of  another  attendant,  —  a  deft  and  capa- 
ble lady  in  a  blue-and-white  uniform,  —  but  she 
had  disappeared  long  ago  (friction  with  the  master 
of  the  house  being  the  cause),  and  his  whole  illness 
and  recovery  were  summed  up  to  Philip  in  the 
single  word,  Peggy. 

For  the  Big  Thing  had  happened.  Philip  was  in 
love.  His  long-expected  Lady  had  come  to  him  at 
last  —  or  rather,  come  back  to  him,  after  an  inter- 
val of  years  —  grown  up  into  a  slim,  elfin,  brown- 
eyed  piece  of  Dresden  china.  She  had  gathered 


266  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

him  up,  crushed  and  broken,  from  the  middle  of  a 
Surrey  highway,  and  had  conveyed  him  straight  to 
her  home  in  Chelsea,  to  be  nursed  and  mothered 
back  into  coherent  existence.  This,  be  it  noted,  in 
the  face  of  a  strongly-worded  and  most  enthusias- 
tic eulogy  (from  her  parent)  of  the  public  hospi- 
tals of  the  metropolis. 

But  Peggy  had  been  quite  firm. 

"  Dad,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  think  you  quite  real- 
ise that  he  has  saved  your  life." 

"If  he  has,"  said  Montagu  Falconer  magnifi- 
cently, "he  shall  be  suitably  rewarded." 

Peggy  eyed  her  progenitor  dispassionately. 

"If  you  are  thinking  of  tipping  him  half-a- 
sovereign,"  she  said,  "  I  advise  you  not  to.  I  hap- 
pen to  know  him.  Now  don't  be  a  silly  old  cur- 
mudgeon, but  go  and  see  if  the  ambulance  is 
coming." 

Montagu  obeyed,  grumbling.  There  were  only 
two  women  of  his  acquaintance  who  did  not  fear 
him,  and  Peggy  was  one.  In  fact,  Peggy  feared 
nothing,  except  spiders  and  the  revelation  of  her 
own  feelings. 

ii 

"And  how  is  the  tibia  of  Theophilus  this 
morning?  " 

Timothy,  entering  the  room  like  a  gust  of  ozone, 
sat  down  heavily  by  the  patient's  bedside  and 
slapped  the  counterpane  heartily. 

"Just  making  both  ends  meet,"  replied  the 
owner  of  the  tibia,  shrinking  nervously  towards  the 
wall. 


THE  BIG  THING  267 

"  Good ! "  said  Timothy.  "  And  is  it  well  with  the 
solar  plexus?" 

"Try  again,"  said  Philip. 

Timothy  paused,  thoughtfully. 

"I  was  under  the  impression  that  it  was  the 
solar  plexus,"  he  said  in  a  troubled  voice.  "  I  know 
it  was  a  heavenly  body  of  some  kind.  Ah,  I  have  it. 
The  semilunar  cartilage!  How  is  the  semilunar 
cartilage  this  morning?" 

Philip  reported  favourably. 

"  Cavities  in  the  cranium  now  permanent,  I 
gather?  "  continued  Tim  sympathetically.  "  Pros- 
pect of  ultimate  mental  weakness  confirmed  - 
what?  Never  mind!  I'll  get  my  late  boss  to  pro- 
vide you  with  a  permanent  post  under  Govern- 
ment." 

"  My  skull,"  replied  the  patient  mildly,  "  is  all 
right,  except  when  you  make  such  an  infernal  noise. 

Timothy  was  contrite  at  once. 

"Noise?  Tut-tut!  Am  I  making  a  noise?  This 
will  never  do.  Nervous  and  irritable  patient  —  eh? 
Must  be  kept  quiet.  I  see.  We  will  get  some  tan- 
bark  down  outside.  Street  Cries  Prohibited  I  and  so 
on.  But  how  are  you  getting  along  generally,  old 
thing?  How  are  all  your  organs?  Fairly  crescendo, 
I  trust." 

"Leave  my  organs  alone,  curse  you!"  growled 
the  invalid. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Timothy  soothingly.  "  Organs 
and  Street  Cries  Prohibited!  We'll  have  a  notice 
to  that  effect  pinned  up  on  your  bedroom  door.  It 
will  please  Falconer.  By  the  way,  how  is  —  er, 
Miss  Falconer,  this  morning?  " 


268  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Thereafter  the  conversation  pursued  a  line  far 
remote  from  Philip's  health.  Needless  to  say,  the 
impressionable  Timothy  had  fallen  an  instantane- 
ous victim  to  Peggy.  Striding  about  the  room, 
absently  munching  some  grapes  which  he  had 
brought  as  a  present  for  Philip,  Timothy  embarked 
upon  a  whole-hearted  panegyric  of  his  present 
adored  one,  heedless  of  the  fact  that  the  same  pane- 
gyric had  been  delivered,  mutatis  mutandis,  to  the 
same  audience  by  the  same  rhapsodist  many  times 
before. 

Philip  lay  back  and  listened  contentedly  —  nay, 
approvingly.  He  experienced  no  feeling  of  jeal- 
ousy. No  man,  he  considered,  could  know  Peggy 
Falconer  without  loving  her,  so  why  blame  Tim- 
othy? 

"  Have  you  noticed  the  neat  little  way  she  puts 
her  head  on  one  side,  and  smiles  right  up  at  you, 
when  she  wants  something  done  that  you  don't 
want  to  do?"  enquired  the  infatuated  youth. 

"  What  sort  of  thing?  "  asked  Philip,  glad  to  dis- 
cuss Peggy  in  any  aspect. 

"Oh,  going  away,  and  things  like  that,"  said 
Timothy,  naively.  "And  her  complexion,  and  her 
arms  —  my  word!  Have  you  seen  her  in  evening 
kit?  Fancy  you  knowing  her  when  you  were  kids! 
I  suppose  you  were  great  pals?" 

"  I  dare  say,"  admitted  the  reticent  Philip. 

"Only  in  a  childish  sort  of  way,  though,  I  sup- 
pose?" pursued  Timothy,  with  a  touch  of  anxiety. 

Before  his  suspicions  could  be  allayed  there  came 
a  vigorous  but  rhythmatic  tattoo  played  upon  the 
tiny  brass  knocker  of  the  door. 


THE  BIG  THING  269 

Tum-ti-tum-ti-tiddle-i-um,  Tum-ti-tum-ti-tum-tumt 
Officers'  Wives  getting  pudding  and  pies, 
Soldiers'  Wives  get  skilly! 

it  said.  This  was  Peggy's  regulation  way  of  an- 
nouncing to  her  patient  that  she  was  about  to  enter 
the  room.  When  her  hands  were  full  she  whistled 
it.  Philip  knew  every  beat  of  it  by  heart. 

After  the  usual  brief  interval  the  door  opened 
and  Peggy  entered,  to  announce  to  Timothy,  with 
her  head  upon  one  side  in  the  manner  which  he  had 
just  described  with  so  much  tenderness  and  enthu- 
siasm, that  it  was  tune  for  him  to  depart. 

"  I  have  another  visitor,"  she  said. 

The  newcomer  proved  to  be  a  gigantic  Scots- 
woman, of  forty  or  more,  with  humorous  blue  eyes 
and  a  slow,  comprehending  smile. 

"  This  is  Miss  Leslie,  Philip,"  announced  Peggy. 
"Mr.  Rendle,  I  want  to  show  you  our  front  door. 
The  exterior  is  greatly  admired." 

in 

Miss  Leslie  sat  down  in  the  chair  vacated  by 
Timothy,  and  remarked,  in  a  soft  Highland 
drawl :  "  It  is  very  shocking,  being  left  alone  with  a 
young  man  like  this.'* 

She  smiled,  and  Philip's  heart  warmed  to  her  at 
once.  He  felt  instinctively  that  Miss  Leslie  was 
going  to  be  a  less  bewildering  companion  than  Miss 
Babs  Duncombe,  for  instance. 

"My  only  excuse  for  my  unmaidenly  conduct," 
continued  the  visitor,  "  is  that  I  am  a  very  old 
friend  of  Peggy's.  I  have  known  her  ever  since  she 


270  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

was  so  high."  She  indicated  Peggy's  infant  stature 
by  a  gesture. 

"So  have  I,"  said  Philip  proudly.  "Did  you 
know?" 

No,  Miss  Leslie  did  not  know:  Peggy  had  not 
told  her;  so  Philip,  with  wonderful  fluency  for  him, 
explained  the  circumstances  under  which  he  had 
first  entered  the  house  of  Falconer. 

Miss  Leslie  chuckled. 

"  It  would  be  a  fine  ploy  for  Montagu,"  she  said, 
"scarifying  a  little  boy.  But  I  am  glad  you  met 
Peggy's  mother,  if  only  for  five  minutes." 

"She  was  very  kind  to  me  during  those  five 
minutes,"  remarked  Philip. 

"  She  was  my  greatest  friend,"  said  Miss  Leslie 
simply.  "But  she  has  been  dead  for  seven  years 
now.  I  suppose  you  knew  that?" 

Philip  nodded:  Peggy  had  told  him. 

So  the  conversation  proceeded  comfortably, 
understandingly.  Jean  Leslie  was  one  of  those 
women  in  whose  presence  a  man  can  put  his  soul 
into  carpet-slippers.  It  was  not  necessary  to  select 
light  topics  or  invent  small-talk  for  her  benefit.  She 
appeared  to  know  all  about  Philip,  and  the  Brake, 
and  the  accident.  She  also  gave  Philip  a  good  deal 
of  fresh  information  about  Peggy  and  her  father. 

"  I  hoped,"  she  said,  "  that  when  Montagu  was 
made  an  A.R.A.  he  would  be  less  of  a  bear.  But 
he  is  just  the  same.  Success  came  too  late,  poor 
body.  He  is  as  morose  and  pernickety  and  feck- 
less as  ever.  Peggy  is  hard  put  to  it  sometimes." 

"  I  expect  you  help  her  a  good  deal,"  remarked 
Philip,  with  sudden  intuition. 


THE  BIG  THING  271 

Miss  Leslie  smiled  grimly. 
'  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  put  my  oar  in  occasionally. 
Montagu  dislikes  me,  I  am  sorry  to  say.  He  is  not 
afraid  of  Peggy,  —  nor  she  of  him,  for  that  matter, 
—  but  she  is  too  soft  with  him :  so  whenever  I  see  her 
overdriven  I  just  step  in  and  get  myself  disliked  a 
little  more.  But  he  usually  comes  to  me  when  he  is 
in  trouble,  for  all  that.  I  am  the  only  person  who 
has  any  patience  with  him." 

After  that  they  talked  about  London,  and 
Philip's  work,  and  the  future  of  automobilism. 
Miss  Leslie  apparently  saw  nothing  either  "pa- 
thetic" or  "  quaint"  or  "  tragic"  in  a  man  liking  to 
talk  about  what  interested  him.  At  any  rate,  she 
drew  him  out  and  lured  him  on.  For  all  her  spin- 
sterhood,  Jean  Leslie  knew  something  of  masculine 
nature.  She  knew  that  the  shortest  way  to  the 
heart  of  that  self-centred  creature  Man  is  to  let  him 
talk  about  himself,  and  his  work,  and  his  ambi- 
tions. So  Philip  discoursed,  with  all  his  shyness  and 
reticence  thawed  out  of  him,  upon  subjects  which 
must  have  made  his  visitor's  head  ache,  but  which 
won  her  heart  none  the  less.  That  is  the  way  of  a 
woman.  She  values  the  post  of  confidante  so 
highly  that  she  will  endure  a  man's  most  uninter- 
esting confidences  with  joy,  because  of  the  real 
compliment  implied  by  their  bestowal. 

"  I  am  a  silly  sentimental  old  wife,"  she  mused  to 
herself  afterwards,  "but  it  warmed  my  heart  to 
have  that  boy  turning  to  me  for  advice  on  things  I 
knew  nothing  about.  It  would  be  good  for  him,  too. 
He  would  never  talk  like  that  to  Peggy;  he  would 
be  afraid  of  wearying  her.  I  do  not  matter." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   INARTICULATE  KNIGHT 


PHILIP  departed  from  Tite  Street,  Chelsea, 
without  having  invited  Peggy  to  go  with  him. 
Getting  married,  except  in  the  case  of  the  very 
young,  is  not  such  a  simple  business  as  it  appears. 
The  difficulty  lies  in  the  fact  that  a  man's  concep- 
tion of  the  proper  method  of  wooing  is  diametric- 
ally opposed  to  that  of  a  maid;  and  since  the  maid 
has  the  final  word  in  the  matter,  it  stands  to  reason 
that  the  campaign  must  ultimately  be  conducted 
upon  her  lines  and  not  her  swain's.  Hence  Romeo 
usually  finds  himself  compelled,  at  the  very  outset, 
to  abandon  a  great  many  preconceived  and  cher- 
ished theories,  and  adapt  himself  to  entirely  unfa- 
miliar conditions  of  warfare,  and  he  usually  suffers 
a  good  deal  in  the  process. 

On  paper,  the  contest  should  be  of  the  most  one- 
sided description;  for  the  defending  force  (as  repre- 
sented by  the  lady)  is  at  liberty  to  choose  its  own 
ground  and  precipitate  or  ward  off  an  assault  as  it 
pleases,  while  the  invader  has  to  manoeuvre  clum- 
sily and  self-consciously  in  the  open,  exposed  to 
shafts  of  ridicule,  fiery  days  of  humiliation,  and 
frosty  nights  of  indifference.  He  marches  and 
countermarches,  feeling  sometimes  tender,  some- 
times fierce,  not  seldom  ridiculous;  but  never, 


never,  never  sure  of  his  ground.  Truly  it  is  a  one- 
sided business  —  on  paper.  But  woman  has  no 
regard  for  paper.  Under  the  operation  of  a  mys- 
terious but  merciful  law  of  nature,  it  is  her  habit, 
having  placed  herself  in  an  absolutely  impregnable 
position,  to  abandon  her  defences  without  warning 
or  explanation  —  not  infrequently,  at  the  moment 
when  the  dispirited  lover  at  her  gates  is  upon  the 
point  of  striking  camp  and  beating  a  melancholy 
retreat,  marching  out,  bag  and  baggage,  into  the 
arms  of  her  dazed  and  incredulous  opponent. 

But  Philip,  being  unversed  in  the  feminine  in- 
stinct of  self-defence,  did  not  know  this.  To  him, 
from  a  distance,  Love  had  appeared  as  a  Palace 
Beautiful  standing  on  the  summit  of  a  hill  —  a 
fairy  fabric  of  gleaming  minarets,  slender  lines,  and 
soft  curves  —  a  haven  greatly  to  be  desired  by  a 
lonely  pilgrim.  Now  that  he  had  scaled  the  height 
and  reached  his  destination  he  found  nothing  but 
frowning  battlements  and  blank  walls.  In  other 
words,  he  had  overlooked  the  difference  between 
arrival  and  admission.  To  sum  up  the  situation  in 
the  language  which  would  undoubtedly  have  been 
employed  by  that  master  of  terse  phraseology,  Mr. 
Timothy  Rendle,  Philip  was  "  up  against  it." 

There  is  nothing  quite  so  impregnable  as  the  re- 
serve of  a  nice-minded  girl.  The  coquette  and  the 
sentimental  miss  are  easy  game:  there  is  never  any 
doubt  as  to  what  they  expect  of  a  man;  and  man, 
being  man,  sees  to  it  that  they  are  not  disappointed. 
But  to  make  successful  love  to  a  girl  who  is  neither 
of  these  things  calls  for  some  powers  of  intuition  and 
a  thick  skin.  It  is  the  latter  priceless  qualification 


274  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

which  usually  pulls  a  man  through.  Philip  pos- 
sessed rather  less  than  the  average  male  equipment 
of  intuition,  and  his  skin  was  deplorably  thin. 
Peggy  meant  so  much  to  him  that  he  shrank  from 
putting  everything  to  the  touch  at  once.  Like  all 
those  who  have  put  all  their  eggs  in  one  basket,  he 
feared  his  fate  too  much.  So  he  temporised :  he  hung 
back,  and  waited.  If  Peggy  had  ever  given  him  an 
opening  he  would  have  set  his  teeth  and  plunged 
into  it,  blindly  and  ponderously;  but  she  never  did. 
She  was  always  kind,  always  cheerful,  always  the 
best  of  companions;  but  she  kept  steadily  to  the 
surface  of  things  and  appeared  to  be  entirely  obliv- 
ious of  the  existence  of  the  suppressed  volcano  which 
sighed  and  rumbled  beneath  her  feet. 

Philip  became  acquainted,  too,  with  the  minor 
troubles  of  the  love-lorn.  If  a  letter  lay  on  Peggy's 
plate  at  breakfast  he  speculated  gloomily  as  to  the 
sex  of  the  sender.  He  sat  through  conversations  in 
the  course  of  which  his  Lady  appeared  to  make  a 
point  of  addressing  every  one  present  but  himself. 
He  saw  what  Mr.  Kipling  calls  "  Christian  kisses  " 
wasted  upon  other  girls  and  unresponsive  babies. 
He  would  pass  from  the  brief  rapture  of  having  his 
invitation  to  a  drive  in  the  Park  accepted  to  the 
prolonged  bitterness  of  having  to  take  the  drive 
in  company  with  a  third  party,  casually  cobpted 
into  the  expedition  by  Peggy  at  the  last  moment. 
He  purchased  little  gifts,  and  kept  them  for  days, 
not  venturing  to  offer  them  for  fear  of  a  rebuff.  Once 
or  twice  he  embarked  upon  carefully  prepared  con- 
versational openings  of  an  intimate  character,  only 
to  have  these  same  caught  up,  tossed  about,  and 


THE  INARTICULATE  KNIGHT     275 

set  aside  with  unfeeling  frivolity  by  the  lady  to 
whom  they  were  addressed.  He  sometimes  won- 
dered what  had  become  of  the  Pegs  he  had  once 
known  —  the  wistful,  dreamy,  confiding  little  girl 
with  whom  he  had  discussed  all  things  in  heaven 
and  earth  under  the  wintry  skies  of  Hampstead 
Heath.  Mental  myopia  is  a  common  characteristic 
of  young  men  in  Philip's  condition. 

So  he  departed  from  Tite  Street  without  having 
delivered  himself,  and  returned  to  his  own  place. 
And  yet  not  even  that.  For  the  garret  in  Wigmore 
Street  was  no  more.  One  day  during  his  convales- 
cence he  had  desired  certain  books  and  papers,  so 
Peggy  and  Miss  Leslie  made  an  expedition  to  fetch 
them. 

They  drove  up  to  the  door  of  the  house,  and 
having  ascended  to  the  fourth  floor,  let  themselves 
into  Philip's  retreat  with  his  latchkey. 

"It  is  terribly  thrilling,"  observed  the  romantic 
Miss  Leslie,  "to  find  yourself  alone  in  a  man's 
rooms." 

Peggy  said  nothing,  but  looked  round  the  dusty 
sitting-room  with  wondering  eyes.  She  thought  of 
her  own  private  den  at  home,  with  its  pretty 
curtains,  soft  cushions,  fresh  flowers,  and  the 
thousand  useless  but  companionable  knick-knacks 
that  make  a  woman's  room  look  cosy.  This  gaunt, 
pictureless,  carpetless  eyrie  made  her  shiver. 
There  was  not  even  a  grate  in  the  fireplace:  only  a 
rusty  gas-stove. 

"Mercy  on  us!"  exclaimed  Miss  Leslie.  "Can 
the  man  not  afford  a  cover  for  the  table?  And 
where  does  he  sit  if  a  visitor  comes?" 


276  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

She  disappeared  into  Philip's  bedroom,  and 
returned  dragging  a  portmanteau. 

"The  only  chair  in  there  has  a  leg  missing,"  she 
mentioned.  "Take  the  armchair,  child," 

Peggy  obeyed,  and  Miss  Leslie,  seating  herself 
cautiously  upon  the  portmanteau,  enquired :  - 

"How  long  has  the  creature  been  living  here?" 

"Two  or  three  years,  I  think." 

"Has  he  no  friends?"  continued  Miss  Leslie 
scathingly. 

"I  don't  know,  I  am  sure." 

"No  mother,  of  course?" 

"No." 

Miss  Leslie  nodded. 

"I  have  always  maintained,"  she  observed, 
"that  there  ought  to  be  a  law  appointing  women 
inspectors  to  go  round  and  look  after  the  rooms 
of  young  men  that  live  alone  in  London.  Their 
motives  would  be  misunderstood,  of  course,  but  it 
would  be  worth  while,  all  the  same.  Is  there  a 
servant-body  of  any  kind  in  this  place?" 

"He  says  that  a  woman  comes  in  every  morning 
and  tidies  up." 

"I  should  like  to  meet  her,"  said  Miss  Leslie 
grimly.  "I  expect  she  could  a  tale  unfold.  Where 
does  he  get  his  food,  and  how  does  he  eat  it?  Off 
the  floor?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Peggy,  who  had  sat  very 
silent  through  this  tirade.  "I  —  I  had  no  idea 
it  was  as  bad  as  this." 

They  invaded  the  tiny  pantry.  Here  they  found 
a  teapot,  together  with  a  cup  and  saucer,  two 
plates,  a  knife,  a  fork,  and  a  spoon.  There  was  also 


THE  INARTICULATE  KNIGHT     277 

a  small  frying-pan,  and  a  tarnished  cruet-stand. 
A  very  dingy  dishcloth  hung  upon  a  nail  at  the 
back  of  the  door.  There  were  receptacles  which 
had  evidently  at  one  time  contained  tea,  sugar, 
and  salt,  but  they  were  empty.  The  lady  who 
tidied  up  had  seen  to  that.  The  place  was  dusty, 
and  smelt  of  mice. 

"And  he  told  me  only  yesterday  that  he  was 
very  happy  here,"  remarked  Miss  Leslie.  "Poor, 
poor  body!" 

They  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  and,  having 
selected  the  necessary  books  from  a  heap  upon  the 
floor,  turned  to  go.  But  Miss  Leslie's  attention 
was  arrested  by  something  upon  the  mantel-piece. 

"Bless  me,"  she  exclaimed,  "what's  that?" 

"That"  was  the  Meldrum  Carburettor,  the  orig- 
inal model  —  the  solitary  ornament  of  the  apart- 
ment. 

"He  invented  it,  I  think,"  said  Peggy.  "Did  n't 
he  tell  you  about  it?" 

"He  did,"  replied  Miss  Leslie,  "several  times. 
Well,  let  us  be  stepping.  This  place  gives  me  the 
creepies." 

She  marched  out  of  the  room  and  began  to 
descend  the  staircase.  Peggy,  hanging  back  for  a 
moment,  unexpectedly  produced  a  diminutive 
pocket-handkerchief  from  her  belt,  and  put  it 
furtively  to  one  of  its  uses. 

After  that,  flinging  a  defiant  glance  round  the 
empty  room,  she  picked  up  the  books  from  the 
table  and  turned  once  more  to  the  door.  Suddenly 
her  eye  was  caught  by  a  gleam  of  colour  at  her 
feet.  It  was  a  pink  carnation  —  one  of  a  small 


278          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

bunch  which  Philip  had  given  to  her.  He  had 
bought  tbem  in  the  street  during  his  first  outing 
in  a  bath-chair,  and  after  keeping  them  for  three 
days  had  taken  the  flowers  in  one  hand  and  his 
courage  in  the  other  and  made  the  presentation. 
They  were  slightly  faded  —  a  fact  upon  which  their 
recipient  had  not  failed  to  comment.  Indeed,  she 
had  accused  the  donor,  to  his  great  distress,  of 
having  bought  them  second-hand. 

Well,  here  was  one  of  the  bunch  lying  on  the 
dusty  floor:  Peggy  had  dislodged  it  from  her  belt 
in  replacing  her  handkerchief. 

She  picked  it  up,  and  gazed  thoughtfully  about 
the  room.  Then  she  tiptoed  across  to  the  mantel- 
piece, and  proceeded  to  ornament  the  Meldrum 
Carburettor  with  a  floral  device.  Then  she  ran 
guiltily  down  stairs  after  Miss  Leslie. 

ii 

"Philip,'*  enquired  Miss  Falconer  of  her  patient 
that  evening,  "how  much  money  have  you  got?" 

Philip  ruminated. 

"I  don't  quite  know,"  he  said.  "How  much 
do  you  want?" 

"I  want  enough  to  find  decent  rooms  for  you  to 
live  in.  Can  you  afford  it?" 

"  I  suppose  so.  I  don't  spend  half  my  income  at 
present.  My  father  left  me  a  good  deal,  and  I 
have  my  salary  as  well.  But  what  is  the  matter 
with  my  present  abode?" 

"It  is  poky,  and  dirty,  and  unfurnished,  and 
quite  impossible,"  said  Peggy  with  finality.  "You 
must  move  into  something  better." 


THE  INARTICULATE  KNIGHT     279 

"The  rooms  suited  me  well  enough,"  objected 
Philip.  "I  got  through  a  good  lot  of  work  there. 
Besides,  they  were  handy  for  Oxford  Street." 

"Nevertheless,  you  will  leave  them,"  announced 
Peggy. 

Philip  glowed  comfortably.  He  liked  being 
ordered  about  by  his  Lady.  It  showed  that  she 
took  more  than  a  passing  interest  in  him,  he  argued. 

"If  I  do,"  he  said  cunningly,  "will  you  come  and 
see  me  there  sometimes?  Tea,  or  something?  You 
could  bring  Miss  Leslie,"  he  added. 

"Mayhap,"  replied  Peggy  indulgently.  "But 
listen:  I  have  a  plan.  I  think  you  and  Tim  Rendle 
ought  to  take  rooms  together.  At  present  he  is  in 
a  very  stupid,  expensive  set  of  chambers  in  Park 
Place,  wasting  a  lot  of  money  and  getting  into  bad 
habits.  You  could  club  together  and  take  a  lovely 
little  flat,  say  in  Knightsbridge,  and  have  a  proper 
servant  and  decent  meals.  Will  you?  Philip,  what 
are  you  frowning  about?  " 

Philip's  little  glow  of  happiness  had  died  away 
as  suddenly  as  it  came.  That  Peggy  should  make 
plans  for  his  future  was  gratifying  enough.  But 
to  be  urged  by  one's  Best  Beloved  to  set  up  a 
permanent  bachelor  establishment  is  not  an  un- 
mixed delight.  Such  a  recommendation  points  in 
the  wrong  direction.  Philip  would  have  been  bet- 
ter pleased  had  Peggy  advised  him  to  take  a  real 
house  somewhere. 

Besides,  the  mention  of  Timothy  had  spoiled 
everything.  Not  that  Philip  was  jealous,  but 
Timothy's  inclusion  in  the  scheme  had  shorn  the 
situation  of  its  romance  at  a  single  blow.  For  one 


280  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

foolish  moment  Philip  had  imagined  that  Peggy's 
concern  for  his  welfare  and  comfort  had  their 
roots  in  deep  soil;  but  now  the  whole  enterprise 
stood  revealed  for  what  it  was  —  a  mere  feminine 
plot:  a  piece  of  maternal  officiousness.  Timothy 
and  Philip  were  to  be  put  into  chambers  together 
-  Timothy  to  brighten  up  that  dull  dog  Philip, 
and  Philip  to  act  as  a  check  upon  that  irrespon- 
sible young  idiot  Timothy.  Hence  the  ungracious 
frown.  But  his  spoken  objections  took  a  different 
line. 

"Knightsbridge  is  a  long  way  from  Oxford 
Street,"  he  said. 

"I  know,"  replied  Peggy  calmly.  "That  is  why 
I  chose  it." 

"Tim  would  rather  interfere  with  my  work," 
Philip  continued. 

"I  know,"  repeated  Peggy.  "That  is  why  I 
chose  him!  He  will  be  a  nice  distraction." 

"He  will,"  growled  Philip. 

Suddenly  Peggy  flared  up. 

"Philip,"  she  asked  hotly,  "why  are  you  so 
cross?  Don't  you  like  Timothy?" 

"Yes,  of  course,  I  do;  but  — 

"And  would  n't  it  be  pleasant  to  have  his 
company?" 

"Yes,  rather!  But—" 

"But  what?" 

Philip  reddened. 

"I  don't  know,"  he  said  helplessly.  But  he 
knew  well  enough,  and  so  did  Peggy. 

"Then  don't  be  a  baby,"  she  said  severely. 
"It  is  not  very  nice  of  you,  considering  that 


THE  INARTICULATE  KNIGHT     281 

I  am  only  trying  to  make  you  comfortable 
and- 

But  Philip  was  already  doing  penance. 

"Peggy,"  he  burst  out,—  he  called  her  Peggy 
because  she  called  him  Philip:  they  had  never 
returned  to  "Pegs'*  and  "Phil,"  although  she 
sometimes  addressed  him  as  "Theophilus,"  -"I 
am  a  brute.  Forgive  me!" 

Peggy  relented,  and  smiled. 

"No,  you  are  not  a  brute,"  she  said;  "you  are 
just  a  child.  However,  since  you  are  an  invalid, 
I  forgive  you.  But  you  must  not  be  sulky  when 
people  take  trouble  on  your  behalf.  You  are  get- 
ting a  big  boy  now,  you  know!  Say  *  thank  you,' 
nicely!" 

"Thank  you,"  said  Philip  obediently. 

"That  is  much  better,"  remarked  Peggy  approv- 
ingly. "But  tell  me,  why  don't  you  want  to  settle 
down  in  nice  comfy  rooms  with  Tim?" 

Philip  hesitated,  and  his  throat  went  dry.  Was 
this  his  opening  —  at  last? 

"I  don't  want  to  settle  down  —  in  that  way," 
he  said  hoarsely.  "Peggy,  I  - 

"Shall  I  tell  you  why?"  interposed  Peggy. 
"Because  you  are  far  too  much  wrapped  up  in  your 
work.  You  work  too  hard.  You  think  of  nothing 
but  Oxford  Street  and  —  and  carburettors,  and 
things.  I  want  you  —  I  mean,  you  ought  to  go 
about  more,  and  see  people,  and  enjoy  yourself, 
and  have  a  lot  of  friends." 

"I  don't  want-  declared  Philip  rebel- 
liously, 

"Think  how  interesting  and  amusing  you  could 


282  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

be,  if  you  went  about  and  met  more  people," 
continued  Peggy. 

She  got  home  that  time.  Philip  winced. 

"I'm  a  dull  dog,  I  know,"  he  said. 

"No,  you  are  not,"  said  Peggy;  "so  don't  be 
foolish."  Then,  softening  again,  for  she  had 
averted  the  danger,  she  continued  gently: — 

"All  I  meant  was  that  it  would  do  you  good 
to  have  a  little  more  leisure  and  distraction.    'All 
work  and  no  play,'  you  know!    Now,  will  you 
look  about  for  nice  rooms  when  you  get  well  — 
for  yourself  and  Tim?" 

"Yes  —  if  you  will  help,"  replied  Philip,  with 
great  valour. 

"Of  course  I  will,"  said  Peggy  heartily;  "but 
not  if  you  are  going  to  be  cross  with  me." 

Philip  assured  her  that  she  need  never  again 
have  any  fears  upon  that  score.  And  he  was  as 
good  as  his  word. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MAINLY   COMMERCIAL 

As  soon  as  Philip's  bodily  mechanism  would 
permit,  flat-hunting  expeditions  were  organised, 
and  eventually  resulted  in  the  leasing  of  an  apparte- 
ment  near  Albert  Gate.  The  rooms  stood  high  up, 
overlooking  the  Park,  and  were  described  by  the 
agent  and  Timothy  as  "a  lovely  little  bachelor 
suite,"  and  "a  self-contained  monkey -house"  re- 
spectively. 

Furnishing  followed.  One  fine  morning  a  party 
consisting  of  Peggy,  Miss  Leslie,  Philip,  and 
Timothy  set  out  to  purchase  household  equip- 
ment of  every  kind.  It  was  a  disastrous  expedition. 
All  four  were  in  a  mood  for  enjoyment,  and  their 
high  spirits,  as  very  often  happens  when  the  young 
of  the  two  sexes  combine  to  transact  business 
jointly,  took  the  form  of  helpless,  speechless,  and 
unseemly  laughter.  If  a  majestic  shop-walker, 
addressing  the  party  as  a  whole,  enquired  what 
he  might  have  the  pleasure  of  showing  to  them, 
every  one  waited  for  some  one  else  to  reply :  then, 
after  a  pause,  every  one  replied  at  once.  An 
untimely  explosion  followed,  and  the  party  turned 
on  its  heel  and  hurried,  panic-stricken,  into  the 
street. 

Timothy  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  trouble.  He 
began  the  day  by  marching  into  Harrods's  and 
ordering  a  funeral;  repudiating  the  contract,  after 


284  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

ten  minutes  of  ghoulish  detail,  upon  the  plea  of 
having  suddenly  remembered  that  the  deceased 
had  expressed  a  desire  to  be  buried  at  sea,  and 
asking  instead  to  be  directed  to  the  Canadian 
canoe  department. 

Later,  he  conducted  his  followers  to  the  estab- 
lishment of  an  extremely  select  and  most  expen- 
sive bootmaker  in  St.  James's.  The  whole  party 
were  ushered  with  much  solemnity  into  an  apart- 
ment upon  the  first  floor  —  Timothy  wearing  a 
face  of  intense  gravity,  Philip  in  a  gentle  perspira- 
tion, and  Peggy  and  Miss  Leslie  dumbly  gripping 
one  another's  fingers.  The  room  was  plainly  but 
expensively  furnished.  Upon  a  pedestal  in  one 
corner  stood  a  plaster  cast  of  a  Royal  foot. 

Two  serious  gentlemen  in  frock-coats  stood 
awaiting  them.  These,  after  providing  chairs  and 
offering  a  few  observations  upon  the  weather  and 
the  Parliamentary  situation,  inquired  Timothy's 
pleasure. 

"I  want  a  Wellington  boot,"  said  Timothy. 

The  stouter  of  the  two  serious  gentlemen 
touched  a  bell;  whereupon  a  third  gentleman  in  a 
frock-coat  appeared. 

"A  pair  of  hunting-tops,"  announced  the  stout 
man. 

The  newcomer  brought  a  small  stool,  and  lower- 
ing himself  upon  knee  with  knightly  grace,  began 
to  grope  under  Timothy's  chair  for  one  of  Tim- 
othy's feet. 

"Not  for  myself,"  explained  Timothy.  For  a 
grand-uncle  of  mine  —  Lieutenant-Colonel  Busby, 
of  the  Indian  Army." 


MAINLY  COMMERCIAL  285 

"If  the  Colonel,"  suggested  the  senior  frock- 
coat  deferentially,  "would  favour  us  with  a  call, 
we  could  measure  him  for  a  pair  more  satis —  " 

"Not  a  pair,"  corrected  Timothy.  "I  said 
just  one.  My  grand-uncle  had  the  misfortune  to 
lose  a  leg  in  Afghanistan  in  eighteen-sixty-seven, 
so  naturally  he  does  not  require  two  boots.  Besides, 
I  doubt  if  he  could  call  on  you.  He  goes  out  very 
seldom  now:  he  is  almost  bedridden,  in  fact.  All 
he  wants  is  a  number  nine  Wellington  boot.  Have 
you  got  one?  " 

The  frock-coats  conferred  in  mysterious  whis- 
pers, while  the  two  ladies  did  not  cease  to  cling  to 
one  another. 

"We  should  be  happy  to  make  the  boot,  sir," 
was  the  final  verdict.  "Is  it  for  the  right  foot  or 
left?" 

Timothy's  face  expressed  the  utmost  dismay. 

"I  have  entirely  forgotten,"  he  said.  "It  is 
unpardonably  stupid  of  me." 

He  turned  to  the  cowering  Philip. 

"Cousin  Theophilus,"  he  said,  "can  you  recol- 
lect which  leg  it  was  that  Uncle  Hannibal  lost?" 

"The  right,  I  think,"  said  Philip  hoarsely. 
"Not  sure,  though.  Don't  rely  on  me." 

Tim  turned  to  Peggy. 

"Cousin  Geraldine?"  he  enquired. 

"The  left,  I  believe,"  replied  Peggy  composedly. 

Timothy  gave  a  perplexed  smile,  and  turned  to 
Miss  Leslie. 

"We  must  leave  it  with  you  to  decide,  Aunt 
Keziah,"  he  said.  "What  have  you  to  say?" 

"Honk,    honk    honk!"    replied    Aunt    Keziah 


286  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

wildly.    Timothy  rose  to   his  feet,   and   smiled 
apologetically  upon  the  gentlemen  in  frock-coats. 
"I  fear,"  he  said,  "that  there  is  nothing  for  it 
but  to  go  home  and  look.  Good-morning!" 

After  two  hours  of  this  sort  of  imbecility  the 
troupe  found  itself  consuming  ices  in  Bond  Street, 
having  become  possessed  so  far  of  two  bath-mats 
and  a  waste-paper  basket. 

"Now  we  must  be  serious,"  announced  Miss 
Leslie,  wiping  her  eyes.  She  had  learned  to  her 
cost  this  morning  that  no  woman  is  ever  too  old 
to  be  immune  from  a  fit  of  the  giggles.  "Mr. 
Rendle,  will  you  kindly  go  home?" 

Timothy's  only  reply  was  to  dash  out  of  the 
tea-shop  and  into  an  optician's  on  the  other  side  of 
the  street.  Presently  he  returned,  putting  some- 
thing in  his  pocket. 

"  Fall  in  and  follow  me! "  he  commanded. 

"Where  are  we  going  to?"  enquired  Peggy,  as 
the  expedition  meekly  complied. 

"International  Furniture  Company,"  was  the 
brisk  reply. 

Timothy's  dupes  regarded  one  another  more 
hopefully. 

"That  sounds  like  business,"  said  Philip. 
"Come  along!" 

But  Timothy's  exuberance  was  not  yet  ex- 
hausted. On  approaching  the  stately  premises  of 
the  International  Furniture  Company  he  suddenly 
produced  a  pair  of  tinted  spectacles  from  his 
pocket  and  put  them  on.  Then,  assuming  the 
piping  voice  and  humped  shoulders  of  doddering 


MAINLY  COMMERCIAL  287 

senility,  he  took  the  scandalised  Miss  Leslie  by  the 
arm,  and  limping  through  the  great  doorway  of 
the  shop,  demanded  the  immediate  presence  of  the 
manager  of  the  Antique  Furniture  Department. 

On  the  appearance  of  that  functionary,  Tim 
bade  him  a  courtly  good-morning,  and  said :  - 

"I  desire  first  of  all  to  inspect  your  dining-room 
suites.  We  are  setting  this  young  couple"  -  indi- 
cating Philip,  who  flushed  crimson,  and  Peggy,  who 
exhibited  no  confusion  whatever  —  "up  in  a  flat." 

The  manager,  a  short-sighted  young  man  with 
a  nervous  manner,  after  a  startled  inspection  of 
the  decrepit  figure  before  him,  turned  upon  his 
heel  and  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room  suites. 
Timothy  hobbled  after,  leaning  heavily  upon 
Miss  Leslie's  arm  and  coughing  asthmatically. 

"Tim,  you  young  ass,"  urged  Philip,  hot  with 
shame  on  Peggy's  account,  "dry  up!" 

The  relentless  humourist  took  not  the  slightest 
notice.  Instead,  he  addressed  the  back  of  the 
manager. 

"The  young  folk!"  he  wheezed  —  "the  young 
folk!  The  old  story!  The  time  comes  when  they 
must  leave  the  nest.  My  little  bird "  -  here  he 
laid  a  palsied  hand  upon  the  shoulder  of  Peggy, 
who  choked  noisily  —  "has  flown  away  at  last. 
It  took  her  a  long  time  to  find  her  wings,  —  at  one 
time  I  thought  she  was  never  going  to  do  it,  —  but 
all 's  well  that  ends  well,  as  Will  Shakespeare  puts 
it.  My  little  bird  has  found  a  nest  of  her  own  - 
with  honest  John,  here;  and  damme!  her  old 
grandad  is  going  to  furnish  it  for  her!  Are  these 
your  dining-room  suites?  They  don't  make  furni- 


288  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS' 

ture  like  they  did  in  my  young  days,  when  Bob 
Chippendale  and  Nick  Sheraton  were  alive.  I 
remember — " 

"I  like  this  oak  table  very  much,"  said  Miss 
Leslie  to  Philip,  in  a  high  and  trembling  voice.  "  I 
wonder  if  there  are  chairs  to  match  it." 

But  before  any  business  could  be  transacted  the 
irrepressible  octogenarian  was  off  again. 

"Dearest  Pamela,"  he  said  affectionately  to 
Miss  Leslie,  "how  well  I  remember  the  day  that 
we  two  bought  our  wedding  furniture  together! 
We  made  a  handsome  couple,  you  and  I.  You 
wore  a  crinoline,  with  a  black  bombazine  tippet; 
and  I  was  in  nankeen  overalls  and  a  fob.  I  was  a 
mad  wag  in  those  days:  I  remember  I  offered  to 
fight  the  shopman  to  decide  the  price  of  a  harpsi- 
chord —  or  was  it  a  spinet?  —  that  I  considered 
he  asked  too  much  for.  But  times  have  changed. 
I  suppose  you  never  fight  your  customers  now  to 
save  chaffering,  young  man?  If  you  do,  all  honour 
to  you!  I  like  to  see  ancient  customs  kept  up." 
He  surveyed  the  flinching  vendor  of  dining-room 
suites  with  puckered  eyes.  "I  am  an  old  fellow 
now,  and  I  fear  I  would  hardly  give  you  full  meas- 
ure. But  if  you  have  any  inclination  for  a  bout 
with  the  mufflers,"  —  a  relentless  hand  descended 
upon  the  fermenting  Philip  and  drew  him  for- 
ward,—  "my  son-in-law  here,  honest  John — " 

But  the  manager,  murmuring  something  inartic- 
ulate about  a  telephone-call,  turned  tail  and  fled, 
his  place  being  taken  by  a  man  of  more  enduring 
fibre. 

And  so  on. 


MAINLY  COMMERCIAL  289 

They  got  home  about  six,  having  purchased  an 
imitation  walnut  wardrobe  which  they  did  not 
want. 

"We  simply  had  to  buy  something  after  all 
that,"  said  honest  John. 

A  week  later  the  flat  was  sufficiently  furnished 
to  be  habitable,  and  the  new  tenants  moved  in. 

It  was  about  this  time  that  Philip  began  to 
realise  the  portent  and  significance  of  a  myster- 
ious female  figure,  resembling  an  elderly  and 
intensely  respectable  spectre,  which  had  been 
dogging  his  footsteps  and  standing  meekly  aside 
for  him  upon  staircases  ever  since  he  entered  into 
possession.  With  the  arrival  of  the  furniture  the 
apparition  materialised  into  a  diminutive  and 
sprightly  dame  in  a  black  bonnet,  who  introduced 
herself  as  Mrs.  Grice,  and  asked  that  she  and  her 
husband  might  be  employed  as  the  personal  atten- 
dants of  Philip  and  Tim.  The  pair  resided  in  some 
subterranean  retreat  in  the  basement,  and  their 
services,  it  appeared,  were  at  the  disposal  of  such 
of  the  tenants  of  the  building  as  possessed  no 
domestic  staff  of  their  own.  Mrs.  Grice  could  cook, 
darn,  scrub,  and  dust;  while  Mr.  Grice  (whose 
impeccability  might  be  gauged  from  the  fact  that 
he  suffered  slightly  from  gout  and  possessed  a 
dress-suit)  could  wait  at  table  and  act  as  valet  to 
the  gentlemen. 

Philip  was  alone  when  the  assault  was  delivered, 
and  capitulated  at  once,  a  natural  inclination  to 
wait  until  he  had  consulted  Peggy  being  over- 
ridden by  constitutional  inability  to  say  "No"  to 


290  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

a  lady.  The  bargain  concluded,  Mrs.  Grice 
advanced  briskly  to  practical  details. 

"Now,  sir,"  she  said,  "I  see  you  'ave  your 
furniture  comin'  in.  And  very  nice  furniture,  too," 
she  added  encouragingly.  "But  if  you'll  allow  me, 
I  should  like  to  consult  you  about  the  fixtures.  I 
always  likes  to  be  businesslike  with  my  gentlemen. 
There's  that  curtain-pole  over  the  window.  That 
was  given  me  by  Sir  Percy  Peck,  the  gentleman 
what  had  the  flat  last.  He  said  to  me,  just  as  he 
was  leaving,  —  he  was  leaving  to  be  married  to 
Lady  Ader  Evings,  and  they  sent  me  a  pink  ticket 
for  the  wedding,  but  I  could  n't  go,  what  with  my 
daughter  losing  'er  'usband  about  that  time  and 
Grice  getting  one  of  his  legs,  so  it  was  wasted,  not 
bein'  transferable  —  well,  he  says  to  me,  says  Sir 
Percy:  'That  curtain-pole  is  a  present  from  me  to 
you,  Mrs.  Grice.'" 

The  recipient  of  the  departed  Sir  Percy's  bounty 
paused  to  inhale  a  large  quantity  of  sorely  needed 
breath.  Philip,  who  had  written  out  a  cheque  only 
two  days  previously  for  all  the  fixtures  in  the  flat, 
waited  meekly. 

"Now,  sir,"  continued  Mrs.  Grice  briskly, 
"what  shall  I  do  with  that  curtain-pole?  Shall  I 
'ave  it  took  down,  or  would  it  be  any  convenience 
to  you  to  buy  it  from  me?" 

"I  have  an  idea,  Mrs.  Grice,"  said  Philip, 
plucking  up  courage,  "that  I  took  over  all  the 
fixtures  from  the  landlord." 

"Right,  sir,  quite  right!"  assented  Mrs.  Grice 
promptly.  "But  those  were  landlord's  fixtures. 
I'm  talking  about  tenant's  fixtures.  I  dare  say," 


MAINLY  COMMERCIAL  291 

she  added  indulgently,  "that  you  didn't  know 
about  them.  Perhaps  you  have  n't  taken  a  flat 
before.  Well,  Sir  Percy,  he  says  to  me:  'That 
curtain-pole  is  a  present  from  me  to  you,  Mrs. 
Grice.'  Now,  sir,  will  you  have  that  pole  took 
down,  or  will  you  take  it  off  me  'ands?" 

"After  all,"  argued  Philip  to  himself,  "I  dare- 
say the  old  lady  needs  the  money  more  than  I  do; 
and  in  any  case  she  appears  to  think  the  rotten 
thing  is  hers,  which  will  mean  my  getting  another; 
so- 

"  Certainly  I  will  take  it,  Mrs.  Grice,"  he  said. 
"Er  —  how  much  do  you  want  for  it?" 

At  the  mention  of  money  Mrs.  Grice  became 
greatly  flustered. 

"Really,  sir,  I  would  rather  leave  it  to  you,"  she 
protested.  "A  gentleman  knows  more  about  such 
things  than  what  I  do.  I  am  quite  sure  you  will 
give  me  a  fair  price  for  it." 

Philip,  feeling  perfectly  certain  that  he  would 
not,  again  pressed  Mrs.  Grice  to  name  a  figure. 
Finally  the  old  lady  overcame  her  extreme  deli- 
cacy of  feeling  sufficiently  to  suggest  ten  shillings. 

"But  we  must  be  fair  about  it,  sir,"  she  insisted. 
"I  don't  want  to  overcharge  you,"  She  paused,  as 
if  struck  by  a  sudden  thought.  "I'll  tell  you  what, 
sir,  —  we'll  ask  a  third  party ! " 

Next  moment  Mrs.  Grice  was  at  the  door. 

"Grice!"  she  called  shrilly. 

"Commin',  Emmer,"  replied  a  husky  voice,  and 
Mr.  Grice  sidled  into  the  room  with  uncanny 
suddenness. 

"How  much,  Grice,"  enquired  his  helpmeet, 


292  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

pointing  to  the  curtain-pole,  "would  you  think 
was  a  fair  price  for  that  pole?  A.  fair  price,  mind!" 

Mr.  Grice  fixed  his  wandering  and  watery  eyes 
upon  the  article  under  consideration,  and  rumin- 
ated. Finally :  - 

"Ten  shillin',"  he  said. 

Mrs.  Grice  turned  to  Philip  with  a  smile  of 
delighted  surprise. 

"Well,  I  declare!"  she  exclaimed.  "I  was 
about  right,  after  all,  sir." 

Philip,  quite  overwhelmed  by  this  convincing 
coincidence  of  judgment,  announced  humbly  that 
he  would  take  the  curtain-pole. 

"I  had  better  pay  for  it  now,"  he  said. 

"One  moment,  sir,  if  you  please!"  replied  Mrs. 
Grice. 

Darting  out  on  to  the  landing  she  reappeared 
almost  instantly,  heralded  by  a  sonorous  clang, 
carrying  a  bedroom  ewer  and  basin. 

"Now  these  things,  sir,"  she  announced,  "be- 
longs to  Grice.  They  were  Sir  Percy's  present  to 
him.  *  Grice/  he  said,  just  as  he  was  leaving  to 
marry  Lady  Ader  Evings,  'this  jug  and  basin  are 
yours  now:  they  are  my  present  from  me  to  you.' 
Did  n't  he,  Grice?" 

Mr.  Grice  was  understood  to  mumble  assent. 
Mrs.  Grice  took  another  breath.  It  is  hardly 
necessary  to  add  that  within  the  next  thirty  seconds 
Philip  had  become  the  reluctant  owner  of  a  chipped 
jug  and  basin,  recently  the  property  of  a  baronet. 

Mrs.  Grice  swept  on. 

"Now,  sir,"  she  continued,  with  unabated 
vigour,  "these  fire-irons  — •" 


MAINLY  COMMERCIAL 

But  at  this  moment,  to  Philip's  unspeakable 
relief,  Timothy  arrived,  and  took  command  of  the 
situation  at  once.  Philip  put  on  his  hat  and  went 
for  a  walk  in  the  Park. 

"We  had  great  fun,"  reported  Timothy  on  his 
return.  "The  last  thing  she  tried  to  sell  me  was  the 
fireplace.  (I  think  it  was  Sir  Percy's  parting  gift 
to  the  cat.)  I  said  that  I  had  no  money  and  that 
they  had  better  take  it  away.  That  spiked  her 
guns.  And  now,  my  lad,  you  are  going  to  put  on 
your  best  duds  and  come  poodle-faking  with  me!" 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

LA  BELLE  DAME  SANS  MERCI 

THE  enterprise  thus  mysteriously  designated 
turned  out  to  be  nothing  worse  than  an  afternoon 
reception,  and  was  the  first  of  many. 

Philip,  remembering  why  Peggy  had  sent  him 
to  live  with  Tim,  began  conscientiously  to  school 
himself  to  the  rigours  of  a  society  life.  He  went 
everywhere  and  flinched  at  nothing.  He  learned 
to  converse  with  the  modern  ingSnue  without 
feeling  like  an  infant  of  five;  he  learned  to  endure 
the  cross-examination  of  dowagers  without  looking 
as  if  his  one  idea  was  to  bolt.  He  went  to  balls  and 
crushes.  He  was  introduced  to  Ranelagh,  and 
became  acquainted  with  mixed  foursomes. 

He  did  the  thing  thoroughly.  It  was  all  a  means 
to  an  end,  he  felt.  He  was  a  dull  dog:  he  had  no 
parlour  tricks.  In  Peggy's  eyes,  although  in  her 
kindness  of  heart  she  endeavoured  to  conceal  the 
fact,  he  was  only  Most  Excellent  Theophilus,  a 
worthy  person.  Ergo,  he  must  overcome  these 
defects  in  his  character  and  then  try  his  luck 
again.  So  he  attached  himself  to  that  admitted 
social  luminary,  Tim  Rendle,  as  a  humble  disciple, 
acquiring  merit  by  abandoning  some  of  his  favour- 
ite recreations  and  going  out  at  night  when  he 
would  rather  have  been  in  bed. 

It  was  an  ingenuous  and  characteristic  method 


LA  BELLE  DAME  SANS  MERCI    295 

of  procedure,  and  it  puzzled  Peggy  more  than  a 
little. 

"You  are  becoming  quite  a  butterfly,  Theo- 
philus,"  she  said  to  him  one  day.  "I  thought  you 
did  not  like  gadding  about." 

"Neither  I  do,  very  much,"  confessed  Philip. 
"  Excepting,  of  course,  when  —  except  at  such 
times  as  —  well,  now,  in  fact!"  he  concluded 
bluntly. 

They  were  walking  along  the  Chelsea  Embank- 
ment together  on  their  way  to  the  new  flat,  - 
completely  equipped  at  last,  —  where  Peggy  and 
Miss  Leslie  were  to  be  entertained  at  a  great 
housewarming  tea-party.  It  was  the  first  time 
that  they  had  been  alone  together  for  nearly  a 
month. 

"Thank  you,  kind  sir,"  replied  Peggy,  with  a 
gracious  inclination  of  her  head.  "But  why  don't 
you  like  it?  Isn't  it  pleasant  to  go  out  somewhere 
after  a  hard,  dull  day,  and  meet  your  friends,  and 
talk  about  things  that  don't  matter,  and  forget 
all  about  Oxford  Street?" 

"Yes,"  agreed  Philip,  "I  suppose  it  is.  I  will 
confess  this  much:  I  know  I  should  hate  to  go 
back  to  my  old  life  at  Wigmore  Street  now.  I  have 
widened  out  to  that  extent.  But  the  worst  of  these 
social  functions  is  that  you  have  to  put  in  a  terrible 
lot  of  spadework  before  you  get  down  to  what  you 
came  out  for." 

"You  mean  supper?"  suggested  Peggy,  with 
intentional  flippancy.  She  found  it  difficult  to 
control  Philip's  movements  in  conversation.  He 
had  no  small  talk.  Introduce  him  to  a  topic,  and  in 


296  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

five  minutes  he  had  brushed  aside  the  flimsy  super- 
ficialities to  which  we  are  content  to  confine  our- 
selves in  our  social  encounters,  and  was  digging 
heavily  at  the  fundamental  root  of  the  matter. 

"No,  not  supper,"  replied  Philip  gravely.  "I 
mean  this.  A  man  usually  regards  these  gatherings 
as  a  means  to  an  end.  He  does  n't  turn  out  after 
a  hard  day's  work,  to  stand  wedged  in  a  hot  room 
for  hours  on  end,  just  because  he  likes  it.  He  does 
not  want  to  meet  a  chattering  mob  in  the  least. 
But  he  does  want  to  meet  one  particular  person 
very  much,  indeed;  and  perhaps  the  only  way  in 
which  he  can  achieve  his  object  is  by  plunging 
into  a  crowded  room  and  talking  to  fifty  bores 
first.  It  seems  a  terrible  waste  of  energy,  — like 
installing  an  entire  electric  light  plant  to  illumi- 
nate one  globe,  —  but  sometimes  it  is  the  only 
way.  And  usually  it  is  worth  it!" 

He  paused,  feeling  a  little  surprised  at  himself. 
He  could  never  have  talked  like  this  to  Peggy  a 
few  months  ago.  Peggy  said  nothing. 

"I  often  wonder,"  continued  Philip  presently, 
"  when  I  find  myself  at  one  of  these  entertainments, 
how  many  of  the  men  there  have  come  because 
they  like  it  and  how  many  have  come  simply  in  the 
hope  of  encountering  one  particular  pair  of  bright 
eyes.  Women,  I  suppose,  go  because  they  really 
do  enjoy  it  —  the  dresses,  and  the  gaiety,  and  the 
opportunity  to  sparkle,  and  because  it  is  the  right 
house  to  be  seen  at  — " 

"  Not  always,"  said  Peggy.  "  But  why  do  you 
go,  Philip?" 

She  repented  of  the  question  the  moment  she 


asked  it,  but  Philip,  who  had  planned  the  lines  of 
this  conversation  months  beforehand,  and  was  not 
nearly  nimble  enough  to  take  advantage  of  unex- 
pected short  cuts,  blundered  straight  on. 

"  I  go,"  he  said  frankly,  "  to  try  and  get  polished 
up  a  bit.  I  think  I  confessed  to  you  once  before 
that  I  was  a  pretty  dull  dog.  I'm  trying  to  cure 
that.  So  I  go  out  tea-fighting." 

"And  all  the  time  you  would  rather  be  at  home 
with  your  feet  on  the  mantelpiece?" 

"Not  necessarily.  Supposing,  as  I  sat  with  my 
feet  on  the  mantelpiece,  that  some  one  —  some 
one  particular  —  came  into  the  room  and  tapped 
me  on  the  shoulder,  and  said:  'Now  then,  wake 
up !  I  have  a  new  frock  on,  and  I  want  you  to  take 
me  out  somewhere  where  I  can  show  it  off'-— Well, 
that  would  make  all  the  difference  in  the  world. 
I  —  I  should  be  proud  to  go,  then!" 

These  words  were  spoken  hurriedly  and  awk- 
wardly, for  Philip's  heart  was  beating  furiously. 
He  was  getting  near  the  climax  of  this  laboriously 
engineered  conversation,  and  it  seemed  almost 
too  much  to  hope  that  he  would  be  permitted  to 
deliver  the  grand  attack  without  being  headed  off. 
But  he  certainly  was  not  prepared  for  Peggy's 
next  remark. 

"  I  see.  Well,  Theophilus,  there  is  nothing  else 
for  it:  we  must  find  you  a  wife." 

This  was  said  quite  deliberately,  and  needless  to 
say,  it  entirely  disorganised  Philip's  plan  of  cam- 
paign. With  a  sudden  cold  shock  he  realised  that 
the  conversation  had  taken  another  short  cut,  and 
that  the  crisis  was  upon  him  before  he  was  ready. 


298  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"  You  are  the  sort  of  man,"  continued  Peggy,  in 
the  same  unruffled  voice,  "  who  would  get  along 
better  in  the  world  with  a  wife  than  without  one. 
There  are  two  kinds  of  men  who  marry,  you  know. 
One  likes  to  make  a  position  and  then  ask  a  woman 
to  come  and  share  it,  and  the  other  cannot  make 
any  position  at  all  unless  he  has  got  the  woman 
first.  You  are  the  second  kind.  Now"  —  Peggy 
bent  her  brows  judicially,  like  a  panel  doctor 
prescribing  for  an  out-patient  —  "do  I  know  of 
any  one  who  would  suit  you?" 

Philip  made  a  desperate  attempt  to  release  his 
tongue,  which  was  cleaving  to  the  roof  of  his 
mouth;  but  before  he  could  do  so  Peggy  had 
resumed  her  discourse. 

"  She  must  be  the  sort  of  girl,"  she  said,  "  who 
likes  being  killed  with  kindness;  because  you  are 
that  sort,  Mr.  Philip." 

"  Don't  all  girls  like  being  — "  began  Philip. 

"  No  —  not  all.  There  are  lots  of  women  who 
rather  despise  kindness  in  a  man.  They  prefer  to 
be  bullied  by  him,  and  regarded  as  tiresome,  in- 
ferior creatures.  For  some  mysterious  reason  it 
helps  them  to  look  up  to  him." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say,"  exclaimed  that  simple- 
minded  gentleman,  Philip  Meldrum,  "  that  a  wo- 
man would  like  a  man  just  because  —  not  although, 
mind,  but  because  —  he  was  a  brute  to  her?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy;  "it  is  true  enough  of  some 
women.  They  don't  want  to  be  considered,  or 
studied,  or  understood:  they  would  rather  be 
swamped  by  the  man's  personality  and  give  up 
thinking  about  themselves  altogether." 


"But  not  all  women?"  persisted  Philip,  whose 
conception  of  the  sex  was  trembling  on  its  base. 
"  Some  of  them  like  being  considered  and  studied 
and  understood,  Peggy,  don't  they?" 

"Oh,  yes,  most  of  us  do,"  admitted  Peggy, 
smiling.  " Not  that  we  ever  are,  poor  things!"  she 
added  resignedly. 

Philip  saw  an  opportunity  of  getting  back  to 
prepared  ground  again. 

"  I  say,  Peggy,"  he  began,  "  would  n't  you  like 
tobe- 

"  To  be  understood?  Yes,  indeed!  Do  you  want 
me  to  practise  on,  Philip?" 

"Yes,"  said  Philip  with  sudden  fire,  "I  do. 
And  I  want  to  say  this  — 

Peggy  laughed  serenely. 

"  You  may  study  me  and  consider  me  as  much  as 
you  like,  Mr.  Theophilus,"  she  said;  "I  shall  en- 
joy it.  But  you  won't  ever  understand  me." 

"I  would  have  a  thundering  good  try,  all  the 
same,"  replied  Philip  doggedly.  "I  understood 
you  once  —  when  we  were  children  together." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Peggy  more  soberly,  "I  believe 
you  did.  Life  was  a  simpler  business  then.  As  we 
grow  up  we  grow  more  complicated  —  at  least, 
women  do.  But  you  seem  to  be  very  much  the 
same  as  when  I  first  met  you,  Philip." 

"  Is  that  a  compliment?"  asked  Philip  dubiously. 

"  It  is  the  greatest  compliment  I  have  ever  paid 
you,"  said  Peggy,  flushing  suddenly.  "What  a 
sunset!  Look!" 

They  paused,  and  leaned  over  the  parapet. 
The  October  sun  was  dropping  low,  and  the  turbid 


300  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

flood  of  the  Thames  had  turned  to  crimson. 
Philip  glanced  at  his  Lady.  The  hue  of  the  water 
seemed  to  be  faintly  reflected  in  her  face. 

Suddenly  something  took  hold  of  him  —  a 
power  greater  than  himself.  For  once  the  gift  of 
tongues  was  vouchsafed  him. 

"You  are  right,  Peggy,"  he  broke  out.  "I 
believe  I  am  exactly  the  same  as  when  I  was  a 
boy;  hi  one  thing  anyhow;  in  my  views  on"  — 
he  boggled  at  the  word  "  Love,"  and  finally  con- 
tinued —  "in  my  feelings  about  the  biggest  thing 
of  all.  Perhaps  it  is  because  I  have  always  been 
shy  and  awkward,  and  have  not  sought  out  ad- 
ventures that  would  correct  my  illusions.  Any- 
how, I  am  an  idealist  —  a  sentimentalist,  if  you 
like.  I  believe  my  father  was,  too,  and  even  the 
knowledge  that  his  ideals  were  shipwrecked  does 
not  discourage  me.  In  my  Utopia  the  men  work 
and  fight,  and  take  all  hard  knocks  and  priva- 
tions cheerfully,  and  run  straight  and  live  clean. 
They  work  because  they  like  it,  and  not  simply 
to  make  money.  A  man  may  work  for  fame,  too, 
if  he  likes,  but  not  the  sort  of  thing  we  call  fame 
nowadays  —  titles,  and  newspaper  paragraphs,  and 
stuff  of  that  kind.  If  one  of  my  knights  achieves 
a  big  thing  he  is  not  excited  about  it:  he  just 
polishes  up  his  armour  and  goes  and  does  another 
big  thing,  without  hanging  about  until  a  reporter 
turns  up.  I  think  the  title  of  knight  is  the  grandest 
honour  a  man  can  win;  and  it  makes  me  mad 
to-day  to  see  how  that  title  has  been  stolen  from 
its  proper  place  and  bestowed  on  men  who  have 
subscribed  to  party  funds,  or  who  happened  to  be 


LA  BELLE  DAME  SANS  MERCI    301 

Mayor  when  Royalty  opened  a  new  waterworks. 
My  knight  is  a  man  who  has  done  things,  and 
done  them  for  just  one  reason  —  for  the  joy  of 
doing  them;  and  who  dedicates  the  glory  and 
the  praise,  however  great  or  small,  to"  -Philip's 
voice  dropped  suddenly  —  "to  the  honour  of  his 
Lady." 

"And  what  is  his  Lady  like?"  asked  Peggy 
softly. 

She  knew  she  ought  not  to  do  so.  If  a  maid  per- 
mits herself  to  embark  with  a  young  man  upon  a 
romantic  discussion,  it  is  sometimes  difficult  to 
prevent  the  conversation  from  taking  an  uncom- 
fortably personal  turn.  But  for  the  moment 
Philip  had  carried  her  off  her  feet. 

"The  Lady?"  Philip  descended  from  the  clouds 
abruptly,  and  replied:  "Well,  I  think  you  would 
make  a  very  perfect  Lady  for  a  knight,  Peggy." 

The  Rubicon  at  last!  One  foot  at  least  was  over. 
Dumbly  he  waited  for  Peggy's  next  word. 

It  came. 

"  Unfortunately,"  said  the  girl  lightly,  "  I  am 
not  eligible  for  such  a  post.  Knights  are  not  for  me. 
You  see,  Philip,"  she  continued  hurriedly,  avoid- 
ing his  eyes,  "tunes  have  changed.  Knights  are 
too  scarce  and  Ladies  are  too  numerous.  There 
are  about  a  million  women  in  this  country  alone 
who  will  have  to  get  along  without  a  knight  for 
the  whole  of  their  lives." 

"  But  not  you,"  said  Philip  eagerly.  "  Any  man 
would  be  proud  - 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Peggy, "  for  the  compliment. 
But  perhaps  I  prefer  to  be  one  of  that  million. 


302  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

There  are  so  many  things  that  a  woman  can  do 
now  which  were  impossible  in  the  days  of  chivalry, 
that  she  can  live  her  own  life  quite  happily  and 
contentedly,  knight  or  no." 

"  It 's  all  wrong,  all  wrong! "  cried  Philip  passion- 
ately. "  It 's  all  against  every  law  of  God  and  man ! 
I  won't  believe  it!" 

"  Wrong  or  right,"  pursued  Peggy  quietly,  "  it  is 
a  fact  that  many  a  woman  nowadays  would  find 
a  knight  rather — what  shall  we  say? — an  encum- 
brance. For  instance,  I  — " 

"  Not  you,  not  you ! "  said  Philip. 

But  Peggy  continued  relentlessly: — 

"  If  ever  I  do  encounter  a  man  who  wants  to  be 
my  cavalier  —  which  is  of  course  extremely  un- 
likely —  " 

She  paused. 

"You  ought  to  say,  'No,  no!'  or  *  Impossible!" 
she  pointed  out  severely. 

Philip  summoned  up  the  ghost  of  a  smile,  and 
Peggy  proceeded  steadily: — 

"  If  ever  I  do  meet  a  would-be  Knight,  I  shall 
tell  him  that  I  am  greatly  obliged,  but  that  I  have 
other  things  to  occupy  me,  and  that  I  prefer  to 
remain  independent.  So  it  is  no  use,  my  romantic 
friend,"  she  concluded  with  a  whimsical  smile, 
"for  you  to  select  me  as  a  suitable  helpmeet  for 
one  of  your  imaginary  knights.  Now  we  really 
must  get  along:  the  other  two  will  be  wondering 
what  has  become  of  us." 

She  turned  from  the  parapet  to  resume  her 
walk.  But  Philip  looked  her  straight  in  the  face. 

"Is  that  —  final?"  he  asked. 


LA  BELLE  DAME  SANS  MERCI    303 

For  a  moment  they  regarded  one  another 
unflinchingly,  these  two  reserved  and  reticent 
people.  Then  Peggy's  eyes  fell. 

'Yes,"  she  said  in  a  subdued  voice,  "that  is 
final.  So  don't  go  hunting  up  a  knight  for  me. 
Philip." 

When  Peggy  returned  home  after  the  tea-party 
she  found  her  parent  sitting  in  front  of  a  dead  fire, 
wearing  his  overcoat  and  a  face  of  resigned  suf- 
fering. 

"  Hallo,  Dad! "  she  remarked  cheerfully.  "  Why 
have  you  let  the  fire  go  out?" 

"It  is  of  no  consequence,"  replied  Montagu 
Falconer.  "I  am  fairly  warm  in  this  overcoat." 
He  coughed  and  shivered.  "Are  we  having  any 
dinner  to-night?" 

Peggy  bit  her  lip,  and  kneeling  down,  began  to 
coax  the  remnants  of  the  fire  into  flame. 

"Dinner  will  be  at  the  usual  hour,"  she  said. 
"If  you  don 't  put  coal  on  a  fire  it  usually  goes  out, 
does  n't  it?" 

"At  my  time  of  life  and  in  my  state  of  health," 
replied  her  amiable  parent,  "I  think  I  have  a 
right  to  expect  a  certain  modicum  of  comfort  and 
attention.  This  room,  for  instance,  might  be  kept 
decently  heated,  without  — 

"If  you  don't  like  putting  on  coal  yourself," 
Peggy  pointed  out,  "you  can  always  ring  for  a 
servant." 

Suddenly  the  querulous  Montagu  blazed  up. 

"Servants!  Exactly!  I  am  left  to  the  servants! 
I  have  a  daughter,  a  grown-up  daughter,  who 


304  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

nominally  directs  my  household.  But  I  am  left 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  half-witted  domestics,  in 
order  that  my  daughter  may  go  out  to  tea — may 
trapese  from  one  scandal-exchange  to  another! 
Do  you  ever  consider  me  at  all?" 

"Yes,  Dad,  —  sometimes,"  said  Peggy,  bending 
low  over  the  smouldering  fire.  At  the  same  moment 
one  of  the  hot  cinders  sizzled. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

CONFESSIONAL  —  MASCULINE   AND    FEMININE 


"WELL,  I  have  one  thing  to  be  thankful  for; 
there  might  have  been  another  man  in  the  back- 
ground. Now  we  must  get  back  to  work.  Labor 
omnia  vincit,  my  son." 

Thus  Philip  to  himself. 

Then  he  continued,  less  philosophically: — 

"I  suppose  I  had  better  keep  right  away  from 
her.  I  simply  could  n't  stand  any  half-a-loaf  sort 
of  friendship.  All  the  same,  I'll  keep  in  the  offing, 
in  case  I  am  wanted." 

Then  he  went  back  to  Oxford  Street,  and  told 
himself  that  work  was  the  salt  of  life. 

But  the  spell  was  broken.  Labor  omnia  vincit 
proved  to  be  exactly  what  Julius  Mablethorpe  had 
said  it  was  —  only  half  a  truth;  and  Dumps's  con- 
clusion that  Love  and  Work  are  interdependent 
terms  was  borne  out  to  the  letter.  Philip  worked 
as  hard  as  ever  —  harder,  in  fact :  never  had  the 
business  in  Oxford  Street  been  more  efficiently  con- 
ducted —  but  the  zest  of  it  all  was  gone.  Without 
Peggy  —  °r  prospective  Peggy  —  the  day's  work, 
which  had  been  a  series  of  absorbingly  interesting 
enterprises,  was  now  a  monotonous  round.  The 
whirr  of  machinery  had  been  music;  now  it  was 
merely  an  unpleasant  noise.  To  overcome  diffi- 


306  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

culties  and  grapple  with  emergencies  had  been  a 
sheer  joy;  to  do  so  now  was  a  weariness  to  the  flesh. 
Philip  could  not  but  recall,  as  he  slogged  on,  Un- 
cle Joseph's  description  of  his  beloved  regiment 
after  the  episode  of  Vivien :  —  The  only  difference 
was  that  whereas  the  regiment  had  formerly  been  com- 
manded by  a  Damascus  blade,  it  was  nmo  commanded 
by  a  broomstick.  Family  history  appeared  to  be 
walking  in  a  circle. 

But  he  had  no  blame  for  Peggy.  She  had  never 
encouraged  him,  never  led  him  on,  never  deliber- 
ately appropriated  his  services.  She  had  been 
infinitely  kind  to  him  —  and  that  was  all.  If  this 
hitherto  unsuspected  hardness  in  her  nature  was 
a  permanent  thing;  if  she  was  determined  to  live 
her  own  life  and  be  independent  —  well,  here  was 
a  unique  opportunity  for  a  knight  to  prove  his 
metal  —  to  justify  his  boast  that  he  could  serve 
without  ulterior  motives  or  hope  of  reward.  If 
his  Lady  had  selected  another  knight  in  preference 
to  him,  matters  would  have  been  different:  proper 
pride  would  have  driven  Philip  away.  But  so 
long  as  Peggy  walked  alone  and  unprotected,  his 
vocation  in  life  was  clear  and  unmistakable. 

But  it  was  an  uphill  business;  until  by  a  fortu- 
nate chance  it  occurred  to  those  in  authority  at 
Coventry  that  Philip's  abilities  were  being  wasted 
upon  the  mechanical  routine  of  the  London  Office. 
Straightway  he  was  transferred  to  headquarters, 
where  he  was  put  in  charge  of  the  Design  and 
Construction  Department  of  the  Company  —  at 
liberty  to  invent  and  experiment  to  his  heart's 
content. 


CONFESSIONAL  307 

Here  he  felt  better.  He  was  relieved  of  the 
constant  fear  of  encountering  Peggy,  and  of  the 
exasperating  effervescence  of  Tim.  He  also  felt 
absolved  from  any  further  obligation  to  cultivate 
social  graces.  So  he  reverted  whole-heartedly  to 
the  realm  of  Things,  determined  to  eliminate  People 
from  his  scheme  of  life  for  good  and  all.  Machinery, 
as  Mr.  Mablethorpe  had  said,  might  break  your 
arms  and  legs,  but  it  left  your  heart  alone. 

Still,  it  was  a  black  winter.  Extreme  tragedy  is 
the  privilege  of  the  very  young  —  those  of  riper 
years  do  not  hug  tragedy  to  their  bosoms;  they 
know  too  much  about  it;  and  in  this  respect  Philip, 
for  all  his  twenty-eight  years,  was  youthful,  indeed. 
But  no  human  experience  is  without  ultimate 
profit.  Most  of  us  have  to  live  some  portion  of  our 
lives  under  circumstances  which  make  it  necessary 
to  keep  our  eyes  resolutely  averted  from  the  future; 
and  once  we  have  acquired  the  courage  which  this 
performance  demands,  —  and  it  demands  a  great 
deal,  —  we  have  acquired  the  most  valuable  asset 
that  experience  can  give  us.  Any  one  can  be  happy 
who  has  no  doubts  about  the  future;  that  is  why 
children  laugh  and  sing  all  day;  but  the  man  who 
can  keep  a  stiff  upper  lip  when  there  is  no  confi- 
dence in  his  heart  can  fairly  count  himself  one  of 
those  who  have  graduated  with  honours  in  the 
school  of  adversity.  During  those  months  Philip 
acquired  the  priceless  art  of  taking  life  as  it  came, 
and,  abandoning  the  pernicious  habit  of  drawing 
upon  the  bank  of  the  Future,  —  his  account  was 
sadly  overdrawn  there  already,  —  of  living  within 
the  income  that  the  Present  supplied  to  him. 


308  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

True,  it  was  a  mere  pittance,  but  he  learned  to 
live  on  it.  Upon  such  foundations  is  character 
built  up. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  summed  up  the  whole  situa- 
tion in  his  own  fashion,  when  Philip,  in  the  course 
of  a  week-end  visit,  had  unburdened  his  soul  over 
the  last  whiskey-and-soda  on  Saturday  night. 

"Philip,  my  son,  you  are  learning:  your  educa- 
tion is  proceeding  apace.  But  it  hurts,  and  you  are 
puzzled  and  indignant.  But  never  mind!  Hold  on, 
and  things  will  right  themselves.  Your  sense  of 
proportion  will  come  to  the  rescue  and  pull  you 
through.  I  know,  old  man,  I  know!  I  have  been 
through  it  all.  I  was  n't  always  a  dull  British 
householder  with  an  expanding  waistcoat.  I  have 
been  young  and  now  I  am  old  —  or  perhaps  middle- 
aged  —  and  I  know!  Middle  age  has  its  compensa- 
tions. When  we  are  young,  we  alternate  between 
periods  when  we  feel  that  there  is  nothing  on  earth 
that  we  cannot  do  and  periods  when  we  feel  that 
there  is  nothing  on  earth  that  we  can.  Advancing 
years  bring  us  a  comfortable  knowledge  of  our 
own  limitations.  Though  we  may  not  have  so 
many  moments  of  sheer  sublimity  —  moments 
when  we  touch  the  stars  —  as  the  young  man,  we 
have  fewer  hours  of  blackness.  So  carry  on,  Philip. 
Steer  by  dead  reckoning,  if  necessary:  you  will 
get  your  bearings  in  time.  This  experience  will  do 
you  no  harm,  provided  you  face  it  between  the 
eyes.  I  know  nothing  of  your  little  lady  friend, 
but  she  does  not  sound  to  me  like  a  member  of 
the  third  sex.  On  the  contrary,  she  appears  to 
be  gratifyingly  feminine,  Her  present  attitude  is 


CONFESSIONAL  309 

probably  a  pose  of  the  moment.  They  can't  help 
being  made  as  they  are,  you  know.  I  fully  expect 
to  find  my  beloved  Dumps  suffering  from  the 
effects  of  some  germ  or  other  when  she  comes  home 
from  abroad  next  month.  That  reminds  me.  In 
the  spring  Dumps  is  to  come  out  —  not  of  gaol, 
but  of  the  schoolroom,  which  at  eighteen  is  very 
much  the  same  thing  —  for  ever.  The  festivities 
will  include  what  she  calls  a  Joy- Week  in  Town. 
You  had  better  come  and  stay  with  us  during  that 
period,  and  join  me  in  contracting  dyspepsia.  In 
fact,  I  have  a  ukase  from  my  daughter  to  that 
effect.  Will  you  come?" 

Philip  assented,  listlessly.  Joy- Weeks  were  not 
for  him. 

ii 

Miss  Jean  Leslie  lived  in  a  roomy  flat  high  up 
in  a  tall  block  of  buildings  that  overlooked  the 
Thames  at  Chelsea.  The  larger  of  the  two  rooms 
was  her  studio.  Hither  fat,  sweet-scented,  and 
rebellious  little  boys  and  girls  in  expensive  laces 
and  ribbons  were  brought  by  mothers  or  nurses; 
and  after  they  had  been  coaxed  into  smiles  by  the 
arts  and  blandishments  of  their  hostess,  —  and  for 
all  her  spinsterhood  she  excelled  in  that  accom- 
plishment, —  Jean  Leslie  painted  miniatures  of 
them,  for  which  their  doting  and  opulent  parents 
paid  fancy  prices. 

"My  dear,  you  must  be  very  rich,"  observed 
Peggy  one  afternoon,  inspecting  three  portraits  of 
cherubic  innocents,  recently  completed  and  await- 
ing despatch. 


310          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Jean  Leslie  poured  out  the  tea  complacently. 

"Thank  you,"  she  said;  "I  scrape  a  living.  Sit 
down  and  eat  something.  I  have  some  of  your 
favourite  Valencia  buns." 

But  Peggy  seemed  restless.  She  wandered  round 
the  little  sitting-room,  minutely  examining  photo- 
graphs and  pictures  which  she  already  knew  by 
heart. 

"Peggy  Falconer,"  enquired  Miss  Leslie  at  last, 
"will  you  come  and  sit  down  in  that  chair,  or  will 
I  take  you  by  the  shoulders  and  put  you  there?" 

"Sorry,  dear,"  said  Peggy;  "I  have  the  fidgets." 

She  dropped  rather  listlessly  into  a  chair,  and 
then,  for  no  apparent  reason,  got  up  and  sat  in 
another. 

"Why  is  my  best  chair  not  good  enough  for 
you?"  enquired  Miss  Leslie  sternly.  "At  your 
age,  you  ought  not  to  be  manoeuvring  to  get  your 
back  to  the  window." 

"It  wasn't  that,  really,"  protested  Peggy. 

"It  just  was,"  replied  Miss  Leslie. 

She  rose  from  her  seat,  and  taking  the  girl  by  the 
elbows,  turned  her  toward  the  light.  Peggy  sub- 
mitted, smiling. 

"And  now,"  resumed  Jean  Leslie,  sitting  down 
again,  "what  is  the  trouble?" 

"You  really  are  very  Early- Victorian,  Jean," 
said  Peggy  severely.  "You  yearn  for  sentimental 
confidences  and  heart-to-heart  talks.  But  it's 
simply  not  done  now:  hearts  went  out  with  chig- 
nons. Give  me  a  large  and  heavy  piece  of  that 
muffin,  please,  and  I  will  pander  to  your  tastes  by 
talking  about  Prince  Adolphus." 


CONFESSIONAL  311 

Prince  Adolphus  was  the  exalted  title  of  a  purely 
hypothetical  Fairy  Personage  who  was  one  day 
to  lead  Miss  Leslie  to  the  altar.  He  had  been 
invented  by  Miss  Leslie  herself,  and  formed  a 
stock  subject  of  humorous  conversation  with  her 
younger  friends. 

Miss  Leslie  said  no  more,  but  passed  the  muf- 
fins. 

"How  is  that  boy  Timothy?"  she  enquired. 
The  mention  of  Prince  Adolphus  had  brought 
Timothy  into  her  thoughts:  Timothy  had  always 
expressed  profound  jealousy  of  His  Royal  Highness. 

Peggy  laughed. 

"Very  careworn,"  she  said.  "Since  Philip  was 
sent  to  Coventry  he  has  been  in  sole  charge  at 
Oxford  Street.  By  the  way,  he  wants  us  to  lunch 
with  him  on  Sunday.  Can  you  manage  it?" 

"I  don 't  know.  I  am  half -expecting  a  visit  from 
a  fellow  countrywoman  of  mine." 

"Do  I  know  her?" 

"I  doubt  it.  Her  husband  is  second  engineer  on 
a  liner  that  plies  between  London  and  Melbourne. 
She  has  a  good  deal  of  leisure  on  her  hands,  poor 
soul." 

Peggy  asked  the  question  that  a  woman  always 
asks  another  in  this  connection. 

"No,"  replied  Miss  Leslie;  "neither  chick  nor 
child;  so  when  her  man  has  been  away  for  a  month 
or  so,  and  drinking  tea  with  the  wives  of  other 
second  engineers  in  Gravesend  begins  to  pall,  she 
likes  to  come  round  here  and  crack  with  me.  I 
knew  her  in  the  old  days:  her  father  was  head 
forester  to  us.  She  would  be  disappointed  if  she 


312  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

found  me  from  home.  She  never  tells  me  when 
she  is  coming :  she  would  regard  such  a  proceeding 
as  presumptuous.  So"  —  Miss  Leslie  sighed  re- 
signedly— "I  just  have  to  stay  in  for  her.  Her 
husband  sailed  four  weeks  ago,  and  there  has 
been  a  hurricane  in  the  Indian  Ocean  this  week;  so 
I  fancy  she  is  about  due." 

"Everybody  seems  to  bring  their  troubles  to 
you,  Jean,"  said  Peggy. 

Miss  Leslie  looked  up. 

"Troubles?  Oh,  no!  I  assure  you,  when  Eliza 
Dishart  and  I  drink  tea  together,  there  is  no  talk  of 
troubles.  We  are  very  grand.  We  talk  about  the 
Court,  and  freights,  and  the  possibility  of  Union 
between  the  Established  Kirk  and  the  Free.  But 
trouble  —  oh,  dear,  no!  Once  only  did  we  con- 
sent to  be  informal.  That  was  one  wild  night  in 
December  two  years  ago.  Half  the  chimney-pots 
in  London  were  flying  about  in  the  air,  and  she 
knew  that  his  ship  was  in  the  Channel,  homeward 
bound.  She  came  chapping  at  my  door  about  ten 
o'clock,  just  as  I  was  going  to  bed,  and  asked  me  if 
I  would  let  her  sit  here  for  the  night.  Indeed,  I  was 
very  glad  of  her  company.  I  remember  I  managed 
to  pick  out  the  tune  of  the  'Hymn  for  Those  at 
Sea '  for  her  on  my  piano,  and  we  sang  it  together. 
Very  ridiculous  we  must  have  looked.  We  have 
never  mentioned  the  occurrence  since." 

During  this  narrative  Peggy  sat  silent  and  pre- 
occupied. Finally  she  said:  - 

"It  must  be  a  great  relief  to  be  able  to  unload 
your  worries  on  to  some  one  else.  A  girl  has  just 
been  unloading  hers  on  to  me." 


CONFESSIONAL  313 

Jean  regarded  her  friend's  averted  face  curi- 
ously. 

"Indeed?"  she  replied. 

"Yes.  Aman- 

Miss  Leslie  nodded. 

"Quite  so,"  she  remarked  drily.  "She  has 
presumed  too  far,  and  he  won't  come  back." 

Peggy  looked  up. 

"Now  you  are  getting  romantic  again,"  she  said 
reprovingly.  "No,  it  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  My 
friend  has  had  to  be  rather  brutal  to  a  man,  and 
she  feels  sorry  for  him,  and  she  is  afraid  he  must 
think  rather  badly  of  her  —  that's  all." 

"Has  she  been  flirting  with  the  poor  creature?" 
demanded  Jean  Leslie,  in  a  voice  of  thunder. 

"No.  She  is  not  that  sort  of  girl." 

"Then  where  does  the  brutality  come  in?  There 
is  no  brutality  in  putting  a  man  in  his  place,  pro- 
vided you  do  it  in  time.  As  soon  as  a  woman  sees 
that  a  man  is  preparing  to  fall  in  love  with  her 
—  and  she  can  usually  tell  about  five  minutes  after 
she  has  made  his  acquaintance  —  and  she  does  n't 
feel  like  wanting  him,  she  should  get  him  at  arm's 
length  at  once!  Have  —  has  your  friend  not  been 
overlong  in  adopting  that  precaution?" 

"She  could  n't  do  it  before,"  explained  Peggy, 
rather  eagerly.  "They  were  thrown  together  in  a 
very  unusual  way.  She  saw  it  coming,  but  could  not 
do  anything  to  prevent  it.  And  now  the  man  has 
gone  away;  and  I'm  —  she  is  sure  he  thinks - 

Jean  Leslie  handed  her  guest  a  fresh  cup  of 
tea. 

"Are  you  certain,"  she  enquired,  "that  this 


314  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

friend  of  yours  wanted  to  keep  the  young  man  at 
arm's  length?" 

Peggy  twisted  her  long  fingers  together. 

"I  rather  fancy,  from  what  she  said,  that  she 
cared  for  him  a  bit,"  she  admitted. 

"Then  why  send  him  away?"  demanded  Miss 
Leslie. 

Peggy  summoned  up  a  troubled  smile. 

"Dear  old  Jean,"  she  said,  "you  are  so  prac- 
tical!" 

"Practical?  Aye!"  replied  Jean  Leslie  grimly. 
"If  women  were  a  little  more  practical  and  a  little 
less  finicky  about  what  they  are  pleased  to  call 
their  hearts,  this  world  would  be  a  more  under- 
standable place  to  live  in.  Listen!  I  had  a  girl 
friend  once  —  as  intimate  a  friend  as  yours,  I 
dare  say  —  and  when  the  man  she  wanted  asked 
her  to  marry  him,  she  said  'No.'  She  meant  'Yes,' 
of  course,  —  she  merely  wanted  him  to  ask  her 
another  half-dozen  times  or  so  more,  —  but  the 
stupid  man  did  not  understand.  He  went  away, 
and  married  some  other  body  whom  he  did  not 
love,  just  to  be  quit  of  thinking  about  her.  Men  are 
made  that  way.  They  will  do  any  daft  thing  — 
take  to  drinking  or  marry  another  woman  —  to 
drown  the  pain  of  remembrance.  But  this  friend 
of  mine,  being  a  woman,  could  not  do  that.  She 
just  stayed  single,  and  in  course  of  time  became 
an  old  maid  —  and  a  practical  one,  I  promise 
you!  But  let  us  get  back  to  the  other  girl.  Why 
did  she  send  her  lad  away?" 

"Because  there  was  some  one  else  whom  she 
could  not  leave." 


CONFESSIONAL  315 

"A  relative?" 

"Yes." 

Jean  Leslie  nodded  her  head  slowly  and  com- 
prehendingly. 

"I  see,"  she  said  at  length.  "That  is  different. 
You  mean  that  the  relative  would  have  been 
helpless  without  her?" 

"Helpless  and  —  friendless,"  said  Peggy  gravely. 

"Did  she  tell  the  young  man  that  that  was  the 
reason?" 

"No." 

"Why?" 

"Because  —  because  I  fancy  he  was  the  kind 
of  man  who,  if  he  had  known  the  real  reason, 
would  have  persisted  in  staying  single  on  her 
account." 

"And  why  not?  Men  like  that  are  rare." 

"Well,  he  —  she  told  me  that  he  was  the  sort  of 
man  who  had  no  idea  of  looking  after  himself,  or 
making  himself  comfortable — the  sort  of  man  who 
really  needed  a  wife.  It  would  have  been  cruel  not 
to  let  him  go.  She  might  have  had  to  keep  him 
waiting  twenty  years,  and  she  could  n't  bear  to 
think  of  him  living  in  discomfort  and  loneliness  all 
that  time;  so  — 

"So  she  gave  him  another  reason?' 

"Yes." 

"What  reason?" 

"Oh,  the  reason  a  girl  usually  gives  nowadays. 
Other  interests  —  freedom  to  live  one's  own  life  - 
and  so  on.   You  know." 

"Yes,  I  know,"  said  Jean  Leslie  bitterly.  "You 
need  not  tell  me.  I  should  like  to  have  just  five 


316  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

minutes'  talk,  in  here,  with  the  man  that  invented 
the  higher  education  of  women!  However,  that 
is  a  digression.  Your  friend's  case,  as  I  have  said, 
is  different.  Evidently  she  is  not  that  sort  of  girl. 
I  don't  know  what  advice  to  give  her,  poor  soul. 
She  is  in  deep  waters.  But  you  can  tell  her  from 
me—" 

"Yes?"  said  Peggy  eagerly. 

"That  she  is  doing  the  wrong  thing"  —  Peggy 
caught  her  breath  —  "for  the  right  reason.  You 
can  also  tell  her  that  she  is  a  brave  lass.  Perhaps 
it  may  help  her  a  little  to  be  told  that." 

"I  know  it  will,"  said  Peggy  getting  up.  "Good- 
bye, Jean,  dearest!  I  think  I  will  go  and  tell  her 
now." 

Jean  Leslie  sat  long  over  the  teacups,  deep  in 
thought.  Mechanically,  she  found  and  lit  a  cigar- 
ette, and  smoked  it  to  the  end.  Then  she  lit 
another.  Darkness  had  fallen  by  this  time,  but 
still  she  sat  on,  gazing  into  the  glowing  fire. 

At  last  she  rose,  and  turned  up  the  electric 
lights.  Having  done  this,  she  surveyed  herself  in- 
tently in  the  mirror  over  the  mantelpiece.  For  all 
her  forty- three  years  she  was  a  youthful  woman. 
She  possessed  the  white  teeth  and  fair  complexion 
that  Scandinavian  ancestry  has  bequeathed  to  the 
northeastern  Highlands  of  Scotland.  Her  hair 
was  abundant,  and  with  a  little  better  dressing 
would  have  looked  more  abundant  still. 

She  turned  from  the  mirror  with  a  quaint  little 
moue,  and  her  eyes  fell  upon  a  framed  photograph 
which  stood  upon  her  writing-table.  It  was  a 


CONFESSIONAL  317 

portrait  of  Peggy's  mother.  She  picked  it  up,  and 
regarded  it  long  and  thoughtfully. 

"Thank  God,  Death  cannot  always  close  the 
account,"  she  said  softly. 

Then,  with  a  resigned  sigh  and  a  downward 
glance  at  her  comfortable  but  unfashionable 
attire,  she  seated  herself  abruptly  at  the  bureau 
and  wrote  a  letter  to  her  dressmaker. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   RIVALS 

IT  was  five  o'clock  on  a  fine  spring  afternoon. 
The  model  had  just  resumed  his  ordinary  raiment 
and  departed,  and  Montagu  Falconer  was  cleaning 
his  palette.  To  him  entered  a  timorous  maid. 

"If  you  please,  sir,  Miss  Leslie  has  called." 

"That  is  quite  possible,'*  replied  Montagu 
calmly,  "but  it  does  not  interest  me." 

"But  she  wants  to  see  you,  sir." 

"  I  fear  I  cannot  oblige  her.  It  is  Miss  Marguer- 
ite's duty  to  receive  afternoon  callers." 

"Miss  Marguerite  is  out,  and  Miss  Leslie 
specially  asked  for  you,  sir,"  persisted  the  maid, 
trembling  beneath  her  employer's  cold  blue  eye. 

Montagu  Falconer  ruminated  for  some  moments. 
Unfortunately  he  omitted  to  remove  his  eye  from 
the  maid,  and  that  sensitive  young  person  was 
on  the  verge  of  an  hysterical  yell  when  he  turned 
upon  his  heel  and  said  curtly :  - 

"Ask  her  what  the  devil  she  wants." 

The  maid  humbly  withdrew.  Having  closed  the 
studio  door  behind  her  she  indulged  in  a  few 
grimaces  of  a  heartfelt  and  satisfying  character, 
and  after  pausing  to  admire  herself  for  a  brief 
space  in  a  Venetian  mirror  conveniently  adjacent, 
returned  to  the  drawing-room,  where  she  took 
her  stand  before  Miss  Leslie  with  downcast  eyes. 


THE  RIVALS  319 

"Mr.  Falconer  sends  his  compliments,  miss," 
she  announced  deferentially,  "and  would  be  very 
much  obliged  if  you  could  say  whether  you  wanted 
him  particular,  because  he  is  painting  a  picture." 

Jean  Leslie  smiled.  She  was  wondering  what 
Montagu  really  had  said.  But  to  the  maid  she 
merely  replied :  - 

"Is  the  model  there?" 

"No,  miss.   Models  go  at  five." 

"Then  say  to  Mr.  Falconer  that  I  should  be 
greatly  obliged  if  he  could  see  me  for  a  few  minutes, 
as  I  wish  to  consult  him  upon  an  important 
matter." 

When  the  maid  had  departed,  Miss  Leslie  rose 
and  walked  to  the  window,  through  which  the 
afternoon  sun  was  shining.  Peggy's  tastes  rather 
leaned  to  rose-coloured  curtains  and  silk  blinds. 
Jean  Leslie  arranged  these  to  her  liking.  Then, 
having  adjusted  her  hat  to  the  proper  angle,  she 
sat  down  with  her  back  to  the  light,  and  waited. 

Presently  Montagu  entered. 

"Well,  Jean,"  he  said  affably,  —  he  was  flat- 
tered by  his  new  rule  of  consultant,—  "you  are 
looking  very  smart  to-day." 

"This  testimonial  is  most  gratifying,"  said  Miss 
Leslie.  "Do  you  like  my  furs?'" 

Montagu  surveyed  her  critically.  He  had  a 
real  eye  for  form  and  tone;  and  he  nodded  ap- 
proval. 

"Yes,"  he  said;  "they  suit  you  perfectly.  And 
that  bunch  of  violets  adds  just  the  right  touch  of 
subdued  colour." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Miss  Leslie  meekly. 


320          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Montagu  sat  down  on  the  other  side  of  the 
hearth. 

"However,"  he  said  importantly,  "I  believe  I 
am  correct  in  supposing  that  you  did  not  come 
here  to  show  me  your  clothes."  (In  this  he  was 
not  so  correct  as  he  thought.)  "I  understand  you 
wish  to  have  my  opinion  on  some  matter." 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Leslie.  "It  is  a  matter  which 
I  could  confide  to  no  one  but  a  very  old  and  very 
trustworthy  friend." 

"Quite  so,  quite  so,"  said  Montagu,  much  grati- 
fied, but  a  little  staggered.  For  the  last  twenty 
years  he  had  rarely  encountered  the  lady  before 
him  for  more  than  five  minutes  without  becoming 
embroiled  with  her  in  a  skirmish  of  some  descrip- 
tion; and  pitched  battles  had  been  not  infrequent. 

"I  want  to  ask  what  you  think,  Montagu," 
continued  Miss  Leslie.  "You  are  one  of  the  few 
people  I  know  whom  I  would  describe  as  a  true 
man  of  the  world." 

Montagu  Falconer  began  to  purr  gently. 

"Possibly,"  he  said  —  "possibly!  Well?" 

"The  fact  is,"  confessed  Miss  Leslie,  after  a 
momentary  hesitation,  "I  have  received  an  offer 
of  marriage." 

"Good  God!'*  exclaimed  Montagu.  "Who  is 
the"  -he  was  about  to  say  "idiot,"  but  cor- 
rected himself  -  * '  gentleman  ? ' ' 

"His  name,"  said  Miss  Leslie,  casting  down  her 
eyes,  "is  Adolphus  Prince.  I  have  known  him  for 
many  years." 

"Extraordinary  name!  Is  he  old  or  young?" 

Miss  Leslie  considered. 


THE  RIVALS  321 

"He  is  about  fifty,"  she  said. 

"Rather  elderly,"  commented  Montagu  Fal- 
coner, who  was  only  forty-eight.  "How  old  are 
you,  by  the  way?" 

"Forty-two,"  said  Miss  Leslie  coyly. 

"I  am  bound  to  say,  Jean,"  remarked  Montagu 
handsomely,  "that  you  don't  look  it.  Now,  what 
of  this  fellow?  Is  he  a  gentleman?" 

"I  hope  so,"  said  Miss  Leslie  humbly. 

"But  are  you  sure?  You  dear  women,  Jean,  if 
I  may  say  so,  are  too  apt  to  be  carried  away  by 
your  feelings.  What  is  his  station  —  his  position?  " 

"He  is  a  retired  colonel  of  militia,"  replied  Miss 
Leslie.  (This  statement  would  have  surprised 
Timothy,  who  would  have  it  that  his  rival  was  a 
superannuated  tea-taster.)  "He  has  lived  a  great 
deal  in  India,  and  is  now  quite  alone  in  the  world." 

"I  see.  One  leg  and  no  liver,  I  presume!"  said 
Montagu  facetiously. 

Miss  Leslie  laughed  appreciatively. 

"You  are  as  caustic  as  ever,  Montagu,"  she  said. 
"  You  spare  none  of  us.  But  what  do  you  think  I 
should  do?  I  am  a  solitary  woman.  It  is  a  dreich 
business,  living  by  one's  self,  is  it  not?" 

"It  is,  it  is,"  agreed  Montagu,  lapsing  straight- 
way into  self-pity.  "Too  true!  Believe  me,  Jean, 
I  know  what  it  means,  better  than  most." 

"Still,  you  are  not  entirely  alone,"  Miss  Leslie 
reminded  him.  "You  have  Peggy." 

"It  is  a  fact,"  admitted  Falconer  with  an  air  of 
gloomy  sarcasm,  "that  I  do  possess  a  daughter; 
but  for  all  practical  purposes  I  might  as  well  be 
Robinson  Crusoe.  I  never  see  her  by  day,  for  I 


322  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

am  busy  in  the  studio  and  naturally  do  not  want 
to  be  pestered.  In  the  afternoon,  as  often  as  not, 
she  goes  out  or  invites  some  people  in.  In  either 
case  I  take  my  tea  alone,  for  I  cannot  stand  her 
associates.  When  she  does  go  out  she  frequently 
returns  only  just  in  tune  to  give  me  my  dinner." 

Miss  Leslie  nodded  sympathetically. 

"I  am  sorry,"  she  said.  "I  had  not  realised 
things  from  your  point  of  view.  It  all  shows  how 
little  we  really  know  of  one  another's  inner  lives." 

"And  the  only  nights  upon  which  she  ever 
seems  to  stay  at  home,"  concluded  the  neglected 
parent,  "are  those  on  which  I  go  out." 

Montagu  was  accustomed  to  go  out  about  five 
nights  a  week,  and  his  daughter  perhaps  twice  a 
month;  so  this  statement  may  have  been  approxi- 
mately correct. 

"I  see  I  have  often  been  thoughtless  in  my 
previous  attitude  toward  you,  Montagu,"  said  the 
contrite  Miss  Leslie.  "We  women  are  apt  to  for- 
get that  a  man — even  a  strong,  self-reliant  man- 
may  sometimes  unbend.  He,  too,  may  desire  com- 
panionship, —  the  right  sort  of  companionship,  of 
course,  —  as  much  as  the  weakest  woman.  For- 
give me!" 

Montagu,  highly  appreciative  of  the  very  proper 
spirit  displayed  by  Miss  Leslie,  forgave  her  freely, 
and  then  launched  into  a  further  catalogue  of 
grievances,  Adolphus  Prince  retiring  for  the  time 
modestly  into  the  background. 

When  he  had  finished,  Miss  Leslie  said :  — 

"Peggy  is  young,  and  perhaps  thoughtless. 
When  she  marries  — " 


THE  RIVALS  323 

Montagu  Falconer  nearly  bounded  out  of  his 
chair.  He  was  genuinely  alarmed. 

"Marry?  That  child  marry?  Good  God,  Jean, 
don't  suggest  such  a  thing!  What  would  become 
of  me,  I  should  like  to  know.  What  does  the  girl 
want  to  marry  for?  Has  n't  she  got  a  comfortable 
home  of  her  own?  Has  n't  she  got  me  —  her 
father  —  her  only  relation  in  the  world  —  to  take 
care  of  her?  My  dear  Jean,  do  not  be  romantic 
at  your  time  of  life,  I  beg  of  you!  You  have  n't 
been  putting  notions  into  her  head,  I  hope?  " 

Miss  Leslie  hastened  to  still  the  tempest  which 
she  had  created. 

"How  masterful  you  are,  Montagu!"  she  said. 
"I  declare,  I  am  quite  afraid  of  you." 

Again  Montagu  purred.  In  the  course  of  a  long 
and  stormy  acquaintance,  extending  over  twenty 
or  more  years,  this  was  the  first  indication  that 
he  had  ever  received  that  Jean  Leslie  regarded 
him  with  aught  else  than  a  blend  of  amusement 
and  compassion.  A  less  vain  and  self-centred 
man  might  have  felt  a  little  suspicious  of  such 
sudden  and  oppressive  adulation,  but  he  did  not. 
Montagu  was  one  of  those  persons  who  like  flat- 
tery laid  on  with  a  trowel. 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  alarmed  you,"  he  said  graciously ; 
"but  I  feel  very  strongly  upon  the  subject.  I 
have  n't  forgotten  the  trouble  I  had  in  getting 
rid  of  that  bargee,  Whatsisname  —  that  chauffeur- 
fellow!  Curse  it!  What  was  he  called?  —  I  have 
it  —  Meldrum !  I  foresaw  trouble,  of  course,  from 
the  day  upon  which  my  daughter  persisted  in 
dragging  his  mangled  remains  into  my  best  bed- 


324 

room,  instead  of  sending  them  to  the  workhouse. 
During  his  convalescence  I  had  to  be  perpetually 
on  guard.  The  fellow  followed  her  about  like  an 
infernal  dog.  Once,  when  I  had  occasion  to  reprove 
my  daughter  —  my  own  daughter!  —  for  some 
fault,  he  showed  his  teeth  and  nearly  flew  at  my 
throat!  Oh,  I  had  to  be  pretty  firm,  I  can  tell  you! 
However,  I  got  him  out  of  the  house  at  last,  and 
I  am  glad  to  say  that  he  has  not  shown  his  face 
here  for  some  months." 

"I  like  a  man  to  be  master  in  his  own  house," 
said  Miss  Leslie  approvingly.  "I  fear  my  friend 
Adolphus  Prince  has  not  your  strength  of  charac- 
ter, Montagu.  I  wonder  if  I  should  be  happy  with 
him."  she  added  musingly. 

"He  sounds  to  me,"  remarked  the  courteous 
Montagu,  "a  confirmed  and  irreclaimable  nin- 
compoop. Has  he  a  weak  chest?" 

"Yes.   I  wonder  how  you  knew." 

"Any  money?" 

"I  believe  not." 

"Then  why  marry  him?" 

"Well,"  said  Jean  Leslie  slowly,  "I  think  I 
might  be  able  to  help  him  a  little.  A  lonely  man 
is  a  very  helpless  creature.  Not  a  man  like  you, 
Montagu,  but  an  ordinary  man.  Such  a  man  lives, 
we  will  say,  in  chambers  or  a  flat.  He  may  even 
have  a  comfortable  house;  but  he  lives  alone  for 
all  that.  He  is  at  the  mercy  of  servants;  when  he  is 
in  doubt  about  anything,  he  has  no  one  to  consult; 
when  he  has  done  a  good  piece  of  work,  he  has  no 
one  to  show  it  to;  when  he  is  out  of  heajt,  he  has 
no  one  to  encourage  him.  If  he  wants  company, 


THE   RIVALS  325 

he  has  to  go  out  and  look  for  it,  instead  of  finding 
it  ready  to  hand  by  his  own  fireside.  Altogether, 
if  he  has  not  your  great  spirit  and  resources, 
Montagu,  he  is  a  very  miserable  man." 

The  worst  of  the  artistic  temperament  is  that 
it  is  intensely  susceptible  to  the  emotion  of  the 
moment.  Describe  joy,  and  it  becomes  hilarious; 
describe  sorrow,  and  it  becomes  tearful;  describe 
fear,  and  it  becomes  panic-stricken.  Montagu 
Falconer  positively  shuddered. 

"Yes,"  he  said  quakingly,  "that  is  true  —  very 
true.  And  more  than  that.  It  is  not  the  weak 
man  who  suffers  —  or  suffers  most.  The  strong 
have  their  moments  of  dejection,  too,  Jean.  You 
would  hardly  believe  it,  but  even  I  - 

Miss  Leslie,  like  a  naughty  little  girl  who  is 
determined  to  make  her  small  brother's  flesh 
creep  before  he  retires  to  bed,  continued  remorse- 
lessly:— 

"And  what  has  he  to  look  forward  to?  Nothing! 
Nothing  but  old  age,  with  its  increasing  feebleness, 
and  helplessness,  and  friendlessness.  That  is  all!" 

She  looked  across  at  the  shaking  figure  in  the 
armchair,  and  suddenly  there  was  real  pity  and 
kindness  in  her  eyes. 

"I  should  like  to  be  able  to  save  a  man  from 
that,  Montagu,"  she  remarked  gently. 

Montagu  nodded  his  head.  For  once  he  had 
nothing  to  say. 

"That  is  why,"  continued  Jean  Leslie  in  the 
same  even  tone,  "I  am  thinking  of  marrying 
Adolphus  Prince.  I  am  no  longer  a  girl.  I  should 
understand  his  moods,  which  are  many:  I  could 


326  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

manage  his  house,  and  I  would  not  be  likely" — 
she  smiled  modestly  —  "to  go  losing  my  heart  to 
some  younger  man  after  a  year  or  two.  And  of 
course,  when  I  saw  that  my  husband  wanted  to 
be  left  to  himself  and  not  bothered,  —  as  all  hus- 
bands have  a  right  to  expect,  —  I  should  have  my 
painting  to  occupy  me." 

"I  will  say  the  same  for  you,  Jean,"  said  Mon- 
tagu Falconer  almost  effusively;  "you  always  had 
an  appreciation  of  Art.  But  come,  now!  What 
of  this  fellow?  Is  he  a  philistine  —  a  bourgeois 
—  a  chromolithographer?" 

"I  am  afraid  poor  Adolphus  has  little  knowledge 
of  Art  —  Art  as  you  and  I  know  it,"  replied  Miss 
Leslie  regretfully.  "But  he  is  a  good  creature  in 
other  respects." 

Montagu  Falconer  began  to  walk  excitedly 
about  the  room. 

"There  you  are!"  he  said.  "There  you  are! 
Is  n't  that  a  woman  all  over?  Here  are  you,  Jean, 
with  your  splendid  talents  and  comparative  youth, 
with  a  strongly  developed  sense  of  what  is  right 
and  beautiful,  prepared  to  throw  yourself  away 
upon  a  half-pay,  knock-kneed,  blear-eyed  militia- 
man, who  probably  wears  Jaeger  boots  and  fur- 
nishes his  rooms  with  stuffed  parrots  and  linoleum. 
The  idea  is  unthinkable  —  impossible !  You  cannot 
do  it!" 

"Then  you  forbid  me  to  marry  him?"  said 
Miss  Leslie  timidly. 

"Certainly  I  do,"  replied  Montagu,  noting  to 
himself  with  intense  gratification  that  a  man  has 
only  to  be  thoroughly  firm  with  a  woman  to  win 


THE  RIVALS  327 

her  complete  submission.  "You  don't  care  for  the 
creature,  I  suppose?" 

"Not  very  deeply,"  confessed  Miss  Leslie.  "He 
is  just  a  friend  —  a  very  old  friend." 

She  sighed,  rose  from  her  seat,  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

"Good-bye,  Montagu,"  she  said,  "and  thank 
you !  I  must  be  going  now.  It  was  good  of  you  to 
have  such  a  long  talk." 

"I  say,  don't  go  yet,"  said  Montagu.  "I 
mean  -  "  He  hesitated.  He  hardly  knew  what  he 
did  mean. 

"I  think  I  really  must,"  replied  Miss  Leslie. 

Montagu  accompanied  her  silently  to  the  door. 

"You  are  going  to  take  my  advice,  I  trust?" 
he  remarked  as  they  stood  upon  the  steps. 

Jean  Leslie  pondered. 

"I  suppose  so,"  she  said  slowly.  "A  man's 
logic  and  common  sense  are  so  invincible.  Still, 
I  owe  you  a  grudge,  all  the  same,  for  having 
deprived  me  of  my  one  romance.  I  am  not  likely 
to  have  another,  you  see!  Good-bye,  Montagu, 
and  thank  you!" 

She  gave  her  counsellor  a  shy  but  grateful  glance, 
and  departed  down  the  street  —  a  well-dressed, 
well-carried,  and  well-bred  figure. 

Next  morning  Montagu  Falconer,  after  a  dis- 
turbed and  introspective  night,  came  down  to 
breakfast  at  ten  o'clock,  and  dismally  surveyed 
Tite  Street  through  the  dining-room  window. 
There  was  a  piercing  east  wind,  which  penetrated 
through  every  nook  and  cranny.  Peggy  had 
breakfasted  an  hour  ago. 


328  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Montagu  rang  the  bell  for  his  coffee,  and  shiv- 
ered. He  was  feeling  stiff  in  the  joints  this  morning : 
could  it  be  rheumatism?  He  would  like  to  consult 
some  one  about  this.  But  of  course  there  was  no 
one  to  consult.  His  daughter,  naturally,  was  not 
at  her  post :  she  was  downstairs  ordering  dinner,  or 
something  of  that  kind.  Besides,  it  could  not  be 
rheumatism:  rheumatism  was  an  old  man's  com- 
plaint. Old  man!  Old  men  suggested  thoughts  of 
Adolphus  Prince.  He  had  some  one  to  consult 
about  his  troubles:  he  could  take  them  to  Jean. 
Montagu  consigned  Adolphus  to  perdition.  Who 
was  Adolphus  Prince,  to  monopolise  — 

Next  moment  Montagu,  seized  with  a  sudden 
idea,  was  at  the  telephone. 

"Number,  please?  "  said  a  haughty  voice. 

"I  want  seven-six-seven-one  Chelsea,  and  I'm 
in  a  devil  of  a  hurry,"  he  replied  frantically;  "so 
put  me  on  as  quick  — 

"Br-r-r-r-r-!  Ch'k!  Number  engaged,"  an- 
nounced the  instrument  dispassionately. 

Montagu  hung  up  the  receiver,  and  swore.  He 
was  quite  panic-stricken  by  this  tune.  So  Adolphus 
Prince  rang  her  up  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
did  he?  He  would  show  the  old  dotard  who  was 
the  better  man! 

Five  minutes  later  he  had  secured  his  call,  and 
was  inviting  Miss  Leslie  to  lunch  with  him  at  the 
Ritz. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE   SECOND   BEST 

"WHERE  shall  we  go  to-night?"  enquired  the 
insatiable  Dumps. 

"Bed,"  replied  her  exhausted  papa,  before  any 
one  else  could  speak. 

The  Joy-Week  was  nearly  over.  For  five  days 
and  nights  the  newly  emancipated  Miss  Sylvia 
Mablethorpe  had  been  allowed  a  free  hand.  Each 
morning  she  had  conducted  her  mother  relent- 
lessly to  shops.  Once  or  twice  her  devoted  father 
had  accompanied  the  expedition,  but  after  being 
twice  warned  by  an  officious  young  policeman 
for  loitering  outside  a  modiste's  in  Dover  Street, 
had  excused  himself  from  further  attendance. 

"They  are  a  most  amazing  sex,"  he  observed 
to  Philip.  "My  precious  pair  actually  spent  an 
hour  and  a  quarter  in  a  hosiery  establishment  in 
Knightsbridge  yesterday  morning  (into  which  my 
modesty  prevented  me  from  accompanying  them), 
and  when  they  came  out  neither  of  them  could  say 
for  certain  if  she  had  bought  anything  or  not.  I 
wonder  how  they  do  it:  if  a  mere  man  were  to 
spend  an  hour  and  a  quarter  in  a  shop,  he  would 
by  the  end  of  that  time  either  be  lying  dead  on  the 
floor  or  else  equipped  with  several  thousand  pairs 
of  everything.  No!  Henceforth  they  shop  alone! 
I  decline  to  run  any  further  risk  of  contracting 


330  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

flat-foot  through  standing  about  on  a  hard  pave- 
ment, or  mental  prostration  from  thinking  out 
topics  of  conversation  suitable  to  retired  heroes 
who  open  carriage  doors.  To-morrow  morning, 
Philip,  I  will  give  them  one  shilling  each  —  they 
don't  really  need  so  much,  for  it  costs  nothing  to 
have  things  dragged  off  high  shelves  and  put  back 
again;  but  they  will  probably  require  ices  or  some 
other  poison  about  eleven  —  and  you  and  I  will 
get  up  an  appetite  for  lunch  by  going  for  a 
ride." 

At  the  present  moment  the  party  were  taking 
tea  at  the  Carlton,  after  a  matinee. 

"I  think  it  would  be  nice,"  continued  Sylvia 
in  a  far-away  voice,  entirely  ignoring  her  male 
parent's  suggestion,  "if  we  went  to  a  music-hall. 
I  haven't  been  to  one  yet;  and  I  am  getting  a  bit 
tired  of  theatres."  (Which  was  not  altogether 
surprising,  considering  that  Miss  Sylvia  and  suite 
had  visited  seven  in  five  days.)  "Then  you  could 
smoke,  daddy,"  she  continued  artfully.  "You  will 
come,  won't  you,  Philip?" 

"It  may  possibly  have  escaped  your  memory," 
Mr.  Mablethorpe  mentioned,  "that  we  are  engaged 
to  dine  to-night  with  Derek  Rayner." 

"Oh,  bother!"  said  the  ungrateful  Dumps; 
"so  we  are.  Has  he  invited  you,  Philip?" 

"No,"  said  Philip;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Mable- 
thorpe exchanged  glances. 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what,"  announced  Sylvia, 
who  was  not  of  an  age  to  have  any  regard  for  the 
feelings  of  young  men;  "we  will  dine  with  Derek, 
and  you  must  join  us  afterwards,  and  we  will  all 


THE  SECOND  BEST  331 

go  to  the  Arena  together.  I  hear  it  is  the  best 
place.  Derek  won't  mind,  will  he?" 

"I  am  sure  the  arrangement  will  meet  with  his 
entire  approval,"  remarked  Mr.  Mablethorpe 
solemnly. 

"In  that  case,"  continued  Sylvia  with  great 
cheerfulness,  having  gained  her  point,  "we  had 
better  telephone  to  him  that  we  shall  want  dinner 
earlier.  What  time  do  music-halls  begin?" 

"The  performance,"  said  her  father,  "is  timed 
to  commence  at  eight  P.M.,  but  attendance  during 
the  earlier  turns  is  not  compulsory." 

He  spoke  bravely,  but  without  hope,  for  he 
knew  his  daughter. 

"I  insist,"  announced  the  voracious  Dumps, 
"on  being  there  when  the  curtain  goes  up.  I  shall 
tell  Derek  that  we  will  dine  at  a  quarter  to  seven. 
Do  you  think  this  hotel  is  on  the  telephone?" 

"Possibly.  If  not,  we  can  always  climb  to  the 
top  of  the  Haymarket  and  light  a  beacon-fire," 
replied  the  caustic  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  still  sore  at 
the  thought  of  yet  another  scrambled  dinner. 

His  daughter  ignored  the  pleasantry. 

"Will  you  come  and  help  me  to  find  it,  Philip?" 
she  said. 

Philip  complied,  and  the  pair  went  out -to  the 
hotel  telephone  exchange,  leaving  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mablethorpe  to  regard  one  another  curiously. 

"Poor  Derek!"  said  Mrs.  Mablethorpe. 

"Poor  Dumps!"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  to 
himself. 

Meanwhile,  at  the  telephone,  Sylvia  was  saying 
to  Philip:  — 


332  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"It  would  never  do  to  leave  you  out,  Philip,  on 
the  last  evening,  would  it?" 

For  a  moment  their  eyes  met.  Then  Sylvia's 
dropped  quickly. 

Philip  dined  in  solitary  state  in  his  own  flat.  He 
still  retained  his  holding  therein,  for  his  duties 
involved  a  good  deal  of  travelling,  and  it  was 
convenient  to  have  a  pied-a-terre  in  London. 
Timothy  was  out,  and  he  had  the  premises  to  him- 
self, for  which  he  was  not  altogether  sorry.  He  had 
a  good  deal  to  occupy  his  mind  just  at  present,  and 
he  wanted  to  think. 

But  his  thoughts  had  made  no  appreciable 
progress  when  he  arrived  at  the  Arena  Palace  of 
Varieties  at  five  minutes  to  eight. 

He  found  the  party  already  assembled  in  the 
foyer,  under  the  radiant  direction  of  Sylvia  and  the 
thundercloud  escort  of  Mr.  Derek  Rayner,  who 
greeted  Philip  gloomily  but  politely.  A  mincing 
damsel  in  a  lace  tucker  conducted  them  to  their 
seats,  which  were  situated  in  the  fourth  row  of  an 
unpeopled  desert  of  stalls. 

"It's  lucky  we  got  here  in  time,"  mused  Mr. 
Mablethorpe,  surveying  the  Sahara  around  them. 
"We  might  have  had  to  stand." 

"If  people,"  remarked  Sylvia  with  asperity, 
"think  it  grand  not  to  come  to  a  heavenly  place 
like  this  till  ten  o'clock,  so  much  the  worse  for 
them!" 

She  sank  down  luxuriously  in  the  armchair 
which  called  itself  a  stall,  and  commanded  Philip 
and  Rayner  to  dispose  themselves  upon  either  side 


THE  SECOND  BEST  333 

of  her,  leaving  her  parents  to  shift  for  themselves. 
Rayner,  with  the  air  of  a  conjuror  who  is  a  little 
doubtful  as  to  whether  his  audience  are  not  getting 
slightly  tired  of  this  trick,  produced  a  box  of 
chocolates  out  of  his  hat,  and  the  party  settled 
down  to  enjoy  the  performance. 

The  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  figured  in  the 
earlier  portion  of  the  programme  were  obviously 
surprised  and  pleased  to  find  the  stalls  inhabited. 
Accustomed  to  shout  across  an  ocean  of  blue  plush 
to  an  audience  of  pigmies  situated  upon  the  dis- 
tant horizon,  their  gratification  at  finding  human 
beings  within  a  few  yards  of  them  was  extreme. 
More  than  one  of  the  comedians  worked  an  allu- 
sion to  the  fact  into  his  "patter." 

About  a  quarter  to  nine  the  ranks  of  the  stall- 
holders were  stiffened  by  the  arrival  of  a  magnifi- 
cent gentleman  in  evening  dress,  with  a  gardenia 
in  his  buttonhole.  He  took  a  seat  in  the  front  row. 

"I  told  you  there  would  be  lots  of  people  soon,'* 
announced  Sylvia. 

But  alas!  her  triumph  was  premature.  Shortly 
after  the  arrival  of  the  gentleman  with  the  gar- 
denia the  drop-curtains  ascended  upon  Turn 
Number  Five  —  Professor  Boko,  the  Man  of 
Mystery,  assisted  by  a  stout  lady  in  mauve  tights. 
The  Professor,  speaking  with  a  French  accent 
which  had  plainly  served  an  apprenticeship  in 
New  York,  opened  the  proceedings  by  appealing 
to  the  audience  to  send  up  an  impartial  and  un- 
biassed body  of  gentlemen  upon  the  stage,  to  act  - 
why,  Heaven  knows  —  as  *'  Committee." 

"You  go,  dad!"  said  Sylvia. 


334  A   KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"I  expect  the  Man  of  Mystery  has  made  his 
own  arrangements,"  replied  Mr.  Mablethorpe. 

And  sure  enough,  almost  before  he  had  spoken, 
the  gentleman  with  the  gardenia  left  his  seat  and 
scrambled  up  a  pair  of  plush-covered  steps  to  the 
stage. 

He  must  have  repented  bitterly  of  his  public- 
spirited  precipitancy;  for  instead  of  being  treated 
with  respect  due  to  a  Committee,  —  no  one  else 
had  come  forward,  —  he  was  subjected  by  the 
Professor  to  a  series  of  humiliating  and  embar- 
rassing experiences.  Showers  of  playing-cards  were 
squeezed  from  his  nose;  flapping  goldfish  were 
extracted  from  his  ears;  bullets  were  fired  point- 
blank  into  his  shirt-front  and  discovered  (by  the 
lady  in  tights)  in  his  coat-tail  pockets.  His  silk 
hat  was  turned  into  a  coffee-urn.  His  very  gar- 
denia was  snatched  from  him  and  shaken  out  into 
a  Union  Jack.  Still,  he  maintained  a  heroic  atti- 
tude throughout,  smiling  woodenly  at  each  suc- 
cessive outrage,  and  loudly  proclaiming  his  entire 
satisfaction  with  the  genuineness  of  the  perfor- 
mance before  resuming  his  seat.  However,  it  was 
plain  that  the  strain  had  been  too  great  for  him; 
for  presently  he  put  on  his  hat,  stole  quietly  away, 
and  was  no  more  seen. 

"Poor  thing!  I  wonder  where  he  has  gone  to," 
said  the  sympathetic  Sylvia. 

Derek  Rayner,  who  was  at  the  age  for  which  the 
drama  has  no  secrets,  explained  that  this  gentle- 
man was  now  probably  travelling  in  the  same  cab 
with  the  Man  of  Mystery  and  the  lady  in  tights  to 
undergo  further  humiliations  at  another  music-hall. 


THE  SECOND  BEST  335 

Presently  the  stalls  began  to  fill  up  in  real  ear- 
nest, and  turns  came  thick  and  fast.  Some  were 
sentimental,  some  were  funny,  a  few  were  vulgar, 
and  some  were  merely  idiotic.  Once  or  twice  Mr. 
Mablethorpe  held  his  head  and  said  his  brain  was 
going;  but  on  the  whole  they  enjoyed  themselves 
greatly,  especially  that  unspoiled  child  of  nature, 
Miss  Sylvia. 

Sylvia  was  particularly  pleased  with  Mr.  Arthur 
Mow,  Comedian.  When  that  gentleman's  number 
went  up  there  was  a  round  of  applause,  and  the 
orchestra  dashed  into  a  merry  tune. 

There  came  a  pause.  Then  the  tune  was  played 
again.  Then  another  pause.  Slight  uneasiness 
among  the  audience. 

"He  hasn't  turned  up,"  remarked  the  worldly- 
wise  Rayner.  "These  chaps  do  four  Halls  a  night. 
He's  probably  on  the  other  side  of  London,  in  a 
broken-down  taxi." 

The  band  played  its  prelude  once  more,  and 
then  some  one  —  presumably  the  manager  —  ap- 
peared upon  the  stage  and  offered  an  apology  for 
Mr.  Mow's  absence. 

"He  was  here  a  moment  ago,  ladies  and  gentle- 
men," he  declared. 

"Rats!"  observed  a  disappointed  lady  in  the 
gallery. 

The  manager  redoubled  his  assurances.  They 
had  searched  high  and  low,  he  said,  but  could  not 
find  Mr.  Mow  anywhere.  Would  the  audience  - 

His  speech  was  interrupted  by  the  conductor 
of  the  orchestra. 

"If    Arfur    Mow   reelly    'as  n't    arrived,"    he 


336  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

announced,  rising  to  his  feet,  "I'll  give  you  a  turn 
meself." 

And  bounding  upon  the  stage,  the  conductor 
turned  and  faced  the  audience  with  a  flourish. 
He  was  none  other  than  the  missing  Arfur  Mow! 
Having  chased  his  apologist  into  the  wings  amid 
shouts  of  delight,  the  great  man  proceeded  to  the 
serious  work  of  the  evening  —  a  ditty  entitled : — 
"A  Glorious  Death;  or,  How  I  was  Drowned  in 
the  Brewery." 

"What  is  the  next  item?"  enquired  Mr.  Mable- 
thorpe  in  a  hollow  voice,  after  the  audience  and 
Mr.  Mow  had  taken  a  reluctant  farewell  of  one 
another.  "The  thumbscrew,  or  boiling  oil?" 

"High  Jinks  in  a  Parisian  Cafe,'"  announced 
Sylvia  with  great  satisfaction. 

Mr.  Mablethorpe  coughed. 

"Be  prepared  to  read  your  programmes  sedu- 
lously until  further  notice,"  he  said  to  his  wife 
and  daughter. 

But  his  fears  were  groundless. 

The  only  occupant  of  the  cafe  when  the  curtain 
rose  was  a  waiter  of  melancholy  aspect.  To  him 
entered  a  lady  and  gentleman  in  evening  dress, 
arm-in-arm, —  the  gentleman  carrying  an  umbrella 
and  smoking  an  unlighted  cigar,  —  who  intimated 
in  pantomime  that  they  required  an  abundant  and 
satisfying  meal.  The  waiter  responded  by  stepping 
forward  and  bowing  so  low  that  he  fell  right  over 
on  to  the  back  of  his  neck,  coming  up  again  to  a 
standing  position  after  one  complete  revolution. 
With  a  deeply  injured  expression  he  went  down 
upon  his  hands  and  knees  and  began  to  search  for 


THE  SECOND  BEST  337 

the  obstacle  over  which  he  had  tripped.  Presently 
he  found  it.  It  was  so  minute  as  to  be  quite  in- 
visible to  the  audience,  but  when  thrown  into  the 
wings  it  fell  with  a  reverberating  crash. 

Any  further  doubts  as  to  the  nature  of  the  en- 
tertainment were  now  dissipated  by  the  gentleman 
in  evening  dress,  who,  instead  of  hanging  up  his 
opera  hat  in  the  orthodox  fashion,  gave  his  head 
a  backward  jerk  which  sent  the  hat  flying  back- 
wards on  to  an  adjacent  gas-bracket.  He  next 
removed  his  evening  coat,  and  having  lighted 
his  cigar  from  a  candle  upon  the  table,  proceeded 
to  give  a  juggling  exhibition  with  the  candle,  the 
cigar,  and  his  umbrella. 

At  this  his  lady  friend  withdrew,  possibly  in 
search  of  a  less  eccentric  host.  The  waiter,  instead 
of  serving  supper,  remained  a  fascinated  spectator 
of  the  gentleman's  performance.  Presently,  fired 
with  a  spirit  of  emulation,  he  took  a  plate  and  a 
raw  egg  from  the  table,  —  with  the  exception  of  a 
property  chicken  the  egg  was  the  only  edible  thing 
in  the  restaurant,  —  and  having  thrown  the  egg 
into  the  air  endeavoured  to  catch  it  upon  the  plate. 
He  succeeded.  While  he  was  wiping  his  face,  the 
lady  made  an  unexpected  reappearance.  She 
had  left  her  opera  cloak  and  evening  gown  in  the 
cloak-room,  and  was  now  attired  in  what  looked 
like  a  bathing-suit  of  tight  pink  silk.  Evidently 
having  abandoned  all  hope  of  supper,  she  had 
good-naturedly  decided  to  come  and  lend  a  hand 
with  the  juggling  exhibition.  She  incited  her 
companion  to  further  enterprises.  At  her  instiga- 
tion he  took^ihe  table  by  one  leg  and  balanced 


338  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

it  upon  his  forehead,  —  fortunately  the  chicken 
appeared  to  be  clamped  to  the  dish  and  the  dish 
to  the  table,  —  keeping  three  plates  in  the  air  with 
one  hand  and  a  fourth  spinning  horizontally  upon 
the  ferrule  of  his  umbrella  with  the  other. 

The  waiter,  discouraged  and  fatigued  by  his  want 
of  success  with  the  egg,  here  opened  an  ingenious 
little  door  in  his  own  stomach,  revealing  a  small 
cupboard;  and  taking  out  a  bottle  and  glass,  pro- 
ceeded to  refresh  himself  in  the  usual  manner. 
Then,  catching  the  eye  of  the  lady,  who  was 
regarding  this  somewhat  unusual  arrangement  of 
nature  with  pardonable  astonishment,  he  hastily 
returned  the  bottle  and  glass  to  their  place  and 
shut  the  little  door.  But  feminine  curiosity  is  not 
easily  allayed.  As  soon  as  her  companion  had 
completed  this  performance  with  the  table,  the 
lady  drew  his  attention  to  the  phenomenon  which 
she  had  just  witnessed.  The  gentleman  promptly 
stepped  behind  the  shrinking  waiter,  and  holding 
him  firmly  by  the  elbows,  invited  the  lady  by  a 
nod  to  investigate  the  mystery  for  herself.  This 
she  did.  But  the  opening  of  the  door  only  revealed 
a  tiny  Venetian  blind,  drawn  down  and  bearing 
the  legend,  BAR  CLOSED. 

"I  wonder  how  they  think  of  such  things!"  said 
Sylvia  rapturously. 

"They  do  that  to  give  the  juggler  a  rest," 
explained  the  undeceived  Mr.  Rayner. 

After  this  the  band  played  louder  and  faster,  and 
the  gentleman  took  all  the  furniture  within  reach 
and  proceeded  to  hurl  it  into  the  air,  keeping  it 
there  with  incredible  ease  through  the  whole  of  a 


THE  SECOND  BEST  339 

frenzied  rendering  of  "II  Bacio."  His  lady  friend, 
quite  carried  away  by  her  enthusiasm,  skipped 
about  the  stage  clapping  her  hands  and  uttering 
shrill  whoops.  The  waiter,  roused  to  a  final  effort, 
rushed  off  into  the  wings,  to  reappear  with  a  per- 
fect mountain  of  plates.  These  he  hurled  hyster- 
ically heavenward.  They  descended  in  all  direc- 
tions, splintering  into  fragments  amid  appreciative 
yells  from  the  audience.  Having  caught  exactly 
one  plate  out  of  the  avalanche,  the  waiter  displayed 
it  to  the  house  with  great  pride;  and  then  (evi- 
dently afraid  of  spoiling  the  ship  for  want  of  a 
ha'porth  of  tar)  produced  a  small  coal-hammer 
from  his  pocket  and  smashed  it  to  atoms.  The 
performances  concluded  with  a  general  mfclee,  in 
which  the  gentleman  and  lady  combined  to  bom- 
bard the  waiter  with  all  the  plates  they  could  lay 
their  hands  on.  But  he  caught  them,  every  one 
of  them,  two  at  a  time;  and  then,  once  more 
unlocking  the  door  in  his  waistcoat  and  pulling  up 
the  Venetian  blind,  was  seen  generously  offering 
liquid  refreshment  to  his  discomfited  assailants  as 
the  curtain  fell. 

By  this  time  the  majority  of  Sylvia's  party  were 
enjoying  themselves  thoroughly.  Sylvia  herself 
was  bubbling  over;  Julius  Mablethorpe  was  shout- 
ing like  a  child,  and  his  wife,  weak  with  laughter, 
was  wiping  her  eyes.  Mr.  Derek  Rayner  was  in  the 
seventh  heaven,  for  his  young  hostess  had  devoted 
her  entire  attention  to  him  and  had  hardly  given 
her  other  companion  so  much  as  a  look. 

"Perhaps  the  chap  is  just  a  family  friend,  after 
all,"  he  said  to  himself  optimistically. 


340  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Philip  alone  was  preoccupied.  That  morning  he 
had  received  a  letter  from  his  firm,  offering  him 
what  was  practically  a  year's  holiday.  Sometime 
previously  the  representative  of  a  great  industrial 
corporation  in  the  United  States  had  visited 
England  as  the  guest  of  the  Britannia  Company. 
He  had  been  royally  entertained;  several  excellent 
understandings  had  been  reached,  and  an  impor- 
tant commercial  alliance  cemented.  Now  Philip 
was  invited  to  represent  the  Company  on  a  return 
visit.  It  was  a  signal  honour  and  a  tempting 
prospect.  He  would  encounter  fresh  people  and 
new  ideas;  he  would  be  able  to  enlarge  his  technical 
knowledge,  for  he  would  go  everywhere  and  be 
shown  everything;  and — well,  he  might  be  able  to 
get  a  little  further  away  from  his  thoughts.  He 
was  suffering  at  present  from  a  satiety  of  thought, 
and  the  morning's  letter  had  brought  matters  to 
a  crisis.  Numerous  forces  were  at  war  within  him. 

Chivalry  said:  "If  you  may  not  live  with  her, 
live  for  her;  go  your  own  way  as  far  as  you  must, 
but  do  not  go  too  far:  she  may  need  you." 

Common  sense  said:  "Why  sigh  after  a  girl  who 
does  not  care  for  you,  and  never  did?  You  are 
nothing  to  her:  why  offer  her  what  you  do  not 
owe  and  what  she  cannot  take?  " 

To-night  a  third  voice  had  joined  in  the  debate. 
It  said:  "Love  is  not  entirely  a  matter  of  twin 
souls  and  divine  passion:  it  has  a  very  material 
side.  Life  is  short;  we  live  but  once:  it  is  given  to 
few  to  encounter  their  affinity  in  this  world:  it  is 
foolish  to  waste  one's  youth  waiting  for  a  thing 
which  may  not  exist.  Why  not  be  practical?  Why 


THE  SECOND  BEST  841 

not  cut  the  Gordian  knot?  Marry  some  nice  pretty 
girl,  with  no  nonsense  about  her,  and  have  done 
with  it.  Then  you  will  have  a  comfortable  home 
and  a  loyal  mate,  and  be  able  to  turn  out  some 
decent  work." 

Thousands  of  men,  and  tens  of  thousands  of 
women,  have  debated  this  problem  in  their  time; 
but  Philip  did  not  know  this.  We  are  apt  to  think 
that  our  own  human  experiences  are  unique. 

Suddenly  Sylvia  turned  to  him.  Her  dark  eyes 
were  full  of  reproach. 

"Philip,  you  are  not  listening  a  bit.  This  next 
song  ought  to  be  lovely." 

Philip,  apologetically  conning  the  programme, 
recognised  therein  the  name  of  a  great  singer  —  the 
latest  recruit  to  the  variety  stage  —  who,  having 
achieved  a  European  reputation  as  the  leading 
operatic  baritone  of  his  day,  had  abandoned  that 
strenuous  calling  in  the  zenith  of  his  drawing 
powers  in  order  to  earn  an  ambassadorial  income 
by  singing  selections  from  his  repertoire  —  which 
means  the  hackneyed  ballads  beloved  of  the 
British  Public  —  for  some  fifteen  minutes  per 
diem. 

Presently  the  great  man  appeared.  He  began 
with  the  Toreador's  song  from  "Carmen,"  which 
set  heads  nodding  and  toes  beating  time.  Then 
came  "O  Star  of  Eve";  and  last  of  all,  "I'll  Sing 
Thee  Songs  of  Araby." 

Struck  by  an  unwonted  stillness  at  his  side, 
Philip  glanced  at  Sylvia.  Her  effervescence  was 
gone.  With  a  child's  instant  susceptibility  to  ex- 
ternal influences  her  mood  had  changed:  she  was 


342  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

raptly  drinking  in  the  limpid  notes  that  came  float- 
ing to  her  through  the  smoke-laden  atmosphere 
of  the  Arena  Palace  of  Varieties.  A  humorous 
remark  from  Derek  Rayner  fell  upon  unheeding 
ears.  Her  eyes  shone,  her  breath  came  quickly; 
her  flower-like  face  was  alight  with  tender  enthu- 
siasm. 

"And  all  my  song  shall  strive  to  wake 
Sweet  wonder  in  thine  eyes  I" 

crooned  the  singer.  Certainly  he  had  achieved 
his  purpose  in  one  case,  Philip  thought. 

"To  cheat  thee  of  a  sigh! 
To  charm  thee  to  a  tear!" 

The  words  died  away  to  nothingness  in  the 
absolute  stillness  of  the  great  audience.  Then, 
after  a  brief  interval,  came  the  applause,  in  mighty 
gusts.  But  during  that  interval  Philip  had  had 
time  to  hear  the  sound  of  a  long  tremulous  sigh 
close  beside  him. 

"My  reason  has  been  saved  at  the  eleventh 
hour,"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe  gratefully.  "Talking 
of  the  eleventh  hour,  shall  we  go  home?  Nothing 
but  the  cinematograph  now!" 

But  Sylvia  insisted  upon  seeing  the  programme 
out.  Accordingly  the  party  sat  on,  what  time  such 
of  the  audience  as  still  remained  were  plunged  into 
darkness  and  a  flickering  travesty  of  life  in  the 
American  backwoods  was  thrown  upon  the  screen. 

First  came  the  announcement :  — 


"/  love  you"  says  the  Sheriff  to  the  pretty  Station 
Mistress. 


THE  SECOND  BEST  343 

There  followed  a  picture  of  the  Station  Mistress 
at  home.  The  only  visible  furniture  was  a  writing- 
table,  but  technical  detail  was  supplied  by  a  lever 
standing  up  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  evidently 
designed  to  control  the  railway  traffic  of  the  dis- 
trict. The  only  other  notable  feature  of  this 
interior  was  a  strong  breeze.  Presently  the  Sheriff, 
a  theatrical-looking  young  man  in  a  slouch  hat  and 
trousers  like  a  pair  of  door-mats,  sidled  in  at  the 
door;  and  an  interpolated  line  of  explanatory 
matter  enquired :  - 


"  Will  you  come  riding  with  me  ?  " 


Apparently  the  lady  was  willing,  for  next 
moment  she  was  discovered  in  a  stable-yard  blow- 
ing a  whistle.  Instantly  a  horse  appeared,  saddled 
and  bridled,  and  after  performing  several  tricks 
with  obvious  reluctance,  consented  to  allow  itself 
to  be  mounted,  and  departed  at  full  gallop,  appar- 
ently to  join  the  Sheriff. 

"I  guarantee  that  we  shall  meet  that  animal 
again,"  prophesied  Mr.  Mablethorpe. 

Meanwhile  the  plot  began  to  obtrude.  As  a 
direct  result  of  the  Station  Mistress's  culpable 
"negligence  in  leaving  the  railway  traffic  to  direct 
itself,  the  way  was  now  open  for  an  attempt  to 
hold  up  the  "bullion  express."  This  enterprise 
was  engineered  by  a  gentleman  called  "Mexican 
Steve,"  assisted  by  a  gang  of  six.  Being  apparently 
familiar  with  the  unbusinesslike  habits  of  the 
Station  Mistress,  Mexican  Steve  very  sensibly 
selected  the  Station  Office  as  a  suitable  place 
wherein  to  confer  with  his  associates.  The  con- 


344  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

ference  took  place  forthwith,  the  members  thereof 
huddling  close  together  in  order  to  keep  within  the 
picture. 


The  express  does  not  stop  here;  we  must  flag  her," 


said  the  next  line  of  print. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  enquired  Sylvia. 

**  I  fancy  it  means  that  they  are  going  to  put  the 
signal  at  danger,  and  so  stop  the  train,"  said 
Philip. 

This,  as  it  turned  out,  was  a  correct  surmise;  but 
much  had  to  happen  first.  As  the  audience  had 
fully  expected,  the  symposium  in  the  Station 
House  was  now  interrupted  by  the  intrusion  of  the 
Station  Mistress  herself,  whose  horror  and  aston- 
ishment at  finding  her  home  in  the  possession  of 
Mexican  Steve  and  party  was  a  little  unreasonable, 
considering  that  she  had  been  absent  some  hours 
and  had  left  the  door  unlocked.  The  ensuing 
melee  was  not  depicted,  the  screen  being  suddenly 
changed  to  a  railway  track,  with  a  train  approach- 
ing in  the  distance.  There  was  a  signal-post  at  the 
side  of  the  line.  The  signal  suddenly  rose  to  danger, 
after  which  the  scene  was  switched  back  to  the 
Station  Office,  where  Mexican  Steve  had  just 
finished  pulling  over  the  lever.  The  Station  Mis- 
tress, it  is  regrettable  to  have  to  add,  was  sitting 
bound  hand  and  foot  to  her  own  table.  The  rest 
of  the  gang  disappeared,  doubtless  to  hold  up  the 
train.  Before  joining  them,  Mexican  Steve  ad- 
dressed his  victim :  — 


"Now,  Maimie  Matter  son,  escape  if  you  can!" 


THE  SECOND  BEST  345 

"And  she  will!"  remarked  Mr.  Mablethorpe 
with  conviction. 

"Hush!"  said  Sylvia  under  her  breath.  "Don't 
spoil  it!"  She  was  on  tenterhooks:  it  was  all  real 
to  her. 

Any  doubts  as  to  Miss  Matterson's  ability  to 
escape  from  her  present  predicament  were  at  once 
set  at  rest.  With  a  few  convulsive  wriggles  she 
succeeded  in  getting  her  lips  to  the  horse-whistle 
which  hung  round  her  neck. 

"Thank  Heaven,  we  can't  hear  her!"  said  Mr. 
Mablethorpe  to  his  wife,  as  the  lady's  cheeks 
distended  themselves  in  a  resounding  blast. 

Next  moment  the  door  was  kicked  down,  and 
Maimie's  performing  horse  entered  the  room  and 
pawed  the  floor  politely.  Sylvia  clapped  her  hands. 

"I  knew  it!"  remarked  Mr.  Mablethorpe  re- 
signedly. 

In  obedience  to  a  frenzied  signal  from  his 
mistress  the  sagacious  animal  first  proceeded  to 
operate  the  lever  in  the  middle  of  the  floor,  pulling 
it  back  (presumably)  to  safety.  This  feat  accom- 
plished, he  set  to  work,  amid  thunders  of  applause, 
to  unpick  with  his  teeth  the  knots  which  kept 
Maimie  Matterson  bound  to  the  table.  He  was 
rewarded  for  his  gallantry  by  being  promptly 
mounted  and  ridden  at  full  gallop  across  a  heart- 
breaking line  of  country,  apparently  for  a  distance 
of  about  twenty  miles. 

Then  for  the  last  time  the  scene  changed  to  the 
railway  track.  The  train,  which  had  covered  quite 
two  hundred  yards  in  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour, 
was  now  close  to  the  post,  and  Mexican  Steve  and 


346  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

his  friends  were  crouching  by  the  line  armed  with 
six-shooters.  Above  their  heads  the  signal-arm  still 
stood  at  danger.  Suddenly  it  dropped. 


"Who  did  that?" 


inquired  an  indignant  line  of  print. 

"That  was  the  dear  horse!"  replied  Sylvia  tri- 
umphantly. 

The  train,  which  had  been  exhibiting  signs  of 
indecision,  suddenly  quickened  its  pace  and  shot 
past,  to  the  discomfiture  of  the  desperadoes,  who 
childishly  fired  a  volley  at  the  wheels.  Next 
moment  an  armed  band,  headed  by  the  Sheriff  and 
Miss  Maimie  Matterson,  —  they  must  have  cov- 
ered forty  miles  in  something  like  fifteen  seconds, 
—  dashed  out  of  an  adjacent  wood.  After  a  per- 
functory struggle  the  incompetent  criminals  were 
duly  taken  into  custody  and  marched  off  by  their 
captors.  The  Sheriff,  having  got  rid  of  his  posse, 
seized  the  opportunity  to  indulge  in  an  exchange 
of  tender  endearments  with  Miss  Matterson. 


"We  will  find  the  preacher-man,  right  now  /" 


he  declared. 

Miss  Matterson's  reply  was  not  recorded  in 
print,  but  to  judge  from  the  last  few  yards  of  the 
film,  it  was  of  an  encouraging  nature. 

As  the  Sheriff's  arms  closed  round  the  unresist- 
ing form  of  his  athletic  bride,  Philip  was  conscious 
of  a  gentle  movement  beside  him.  Then  a  small, 
warm,  gloved  hand  was  slipped  into  his  own  in  the 
darkness.  He  made  no  sign:  he  merely  allowed  the 
hand  to  rest  where  it  lay.  Presently  it  was  with- 


SECOND  BEST  847 

drawn  as  softly  as  it  came.  It  was  a  brief,  almost 
momentary  episode,  but  it  settled  the  course  of 
Philip's  life  for  him. 

The  lights  went  up;  a  blurred  and  bearded  figure 
was  thrown  upon  the  screen;  and  the  band,  rising 
to  its  feet,  offered  a  hurried  tribute  of  loyalty. 

"Supper?"  suggested  Mr.  Mablethorpe  to  the 
company  in  general. 

"You  must  all  be  my  guests  to-night,"  said 
Philip.  "I  may  not  have  another  opportunity." 

At  supper  he  told  them  that  he  was  going  to 
America  for  a  year  at  least. 

"I  presume,"  said  Mr.  Mablethorpe,  as  they 
sat  alone  together  after  Sylvia  and  her  mother 
had  gone  to  bed,  "  that  when  you  do  return  from 
your  travels  we  must  not  expect  to  see  —  quite 
so  much  of  you  as  hitherto?" 

"  No,  I  think  not,"  replied  Philip.  Then  he  added 
awkwardly,  "You  understand  the  situation?" 

Julius  Mablethorpe  nodded. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "I  do,  and  I  know  you  are  right. 
There  is  a  power  of  difference  between  giving 
one's  best  and  one's  second  best.  You  can't  com- 
promise over  the  really  big  things  of  life:  with 
them  it  must  be  everything  or  nothing.  You  are 
doing  the  right  thing.  But  we  shall  miss  you,  my 
son  Philip,  —  all  of  us ! " 

So  our  knight  rode  away,  exceeding  sorrowful. 
His  departure  was  mourned  by  many,  notably  one, 
—  but  not  by  Mr.  Derek  Rayner. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

A   BRAND   FROM   THE   BURNING 

THE  liner  Bosphorus,  after  a  comfortable  nap 
of  some  eight  days  in  the  Mersey,  was  making  a 
reluctant  effort  to  tear  herself  from  the  land  of  her 
birth  and  face  an  unfriendly  ocean  upon  her 
seventy-eighth  voyage  to  New  York.  Motive 
power  for  the  time  being  was  supplied  by  four 
fussy  tugboats,  three  of  which  were  endeavouring 
to  speed  the  parting  guest  by  valiant  pushings  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  her  rudder,  while  the  fourth 
initiated  a  turning  movement  at  her  starboard 
bow.  An  occasional  rumble  from  the  engine-room 
announced  that  the  tugs  would  soon  have  no 
excuse  for  further  officiousness. 

The  cabin  passengers  were  leaning  over  the 
rails  of  the  upper  deck,  surveying  the  busy  landing- 
stage.  They  were  chiefly  males  —  then*  wives 
were  down  below,  engaged  in  the  unprofitable 
task  of  endeavouring  to  intimidate  stewardesses  — 
and  were  for  the  most  part  Americans.  Philip 
stood  apart,  watching  the  variegated  farewells  of 
the  crowd. 

The  etiquette  of  valediction  at  the  sailing  of  a 
great  ship  varies  with  the  three  classes  of  pas- 
senger. The  friends  of  cabin  passengers  accept  a 
final  drink,  say  good-bye,  leave  the  ship,  and  are  no 
more  seen.  The  friends  and  relations  of  the  second 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      349 

class  —  and  they  are  all  there  —  line  up  along 
the  landing-stage  and  maintain  a  running  fire  of 
chaff  and  invective  until  the  ship  has  been  warped 
out  into  the  stream  and  the  engines  begin  to  run. 
The  steerage  and  their  friends,  being  mainly  aliens 
and  knowing  no  better,  weep  and  howl. 

Philip  knew  that  the  second-class  passengers 
were  on  the  deck  below  him;  but  as  he  could  not 
see  them  (though  he  could  hear  them)  his  atten- 
tion wandered  to  the  throng  which  was  engaging 
them  in  conversation.  They  were  of  many  types. 
There  were  people  who  shouted  cheerfully,  "Well, 
send  us  a  line  when  you  get  there!"  and  then, 
after  a  laborious  attempt  to  discover  another 
topic,  cried  despairingly,  "Well,  don't  forget  to 
write!"  And  so  on.  "Give  my  love  to  Milly  when 
you  see  her,"  commanded  a  stout  matron  in  bugles, 
"and  say  I  hope  her  cold  is  better." 

Farther  along,  a  girl  with  tears  raining  down  her 
cheeks  was  more  than  holding  her  own  in  an 
exchange  of  biting  personalities  with  a  grimy 
gentleman  at  a  porthole — apparently  her  fianct— 
whom  she  had  come  to  see  off.  A  comic  man, 
mistaking  a  blast  upon  the  siren  for  a  definite 
indication  that  the  moment  of  departure  had 
arrived,  took  out  a  dirty  pocket-handkerchief  and 
wept  loudly,  periodically  squeezing  the  handker- 
chief dry  and  beginning  again.  But  it  was  a  false 
alarm:  the  ship  did  not  move;  and  his  performance, 
which  was  to  have  been  the  crowning  effort  of  a 
strenuously  humorous  morning,  continued  perforce 
to  halt  lamely  along  for  another  ten  minutes. 
Finally,  in  response  to  an  urgent  appeal  from  a 


350          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

matter-of-fact  lady  friend  that  he  would  not  act 
the  goat,  the  unfortunate  gentleman,  submitting  to 
the  fate  of  all  those  whose  enterprises  are  born  out 
of  due  time,  put  his  handkerchief  sheepishly  in  his 
pocket  and  took  no  further  part  in  the  proceedings. 

At  last  the  Bosphorus  swung  clear.  There  was 
a  jingle  of  bells  deep  down  in  the  engine-room, 
followed  by  a  responsive  throb  of  life  throughout 
the  hitherto  inert  mass  of  the  great  vessel.  The 
voyage  had  begun. 

The  crowd  on  the  landing-stage  broke  into  a 
cheer,  which  was  answered  from  all  parts  of  the 
ship.  As  the  sound  died  away  a  girl  stepped 
forward  and  waved  her  handkerchief  for  the  last 
time.  She  was  a  short  girl,  with  a  pleasant  face, 
and  wore  glasses. 

"Good-bye,  Lil,  dear!"  she  cried. 

There  was  an  answering  flutter  from  directly 
below  where  Philip  stood,  and  a  clear  voice 
replied : — 

"Good-bye,  May,  darling!" 

Philip  scrutinised  the  girl  on  the  landing-stage. 

"Who  on  earth  is  that?"  he  said  to  himself. 
Then  he  remembered.  It  was  Miss  May  Jennings, 
sister  of  Miss  Lil  Jennings,  typist  at  the  office  in 
Oxford  Street. 

Having  taken  part,  with  distinction,  in  the  free 
fight  round  the  person  of  the  second  steward  which 
our  great  steamship  companies  regard  as  the  only 
possible  agency  through  which  seats  at  table 
can  be  booked  for  a  voyage,  and  having  further 
secured  a  position  for  his  chair  and  rug  from  the 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      351 

deck-steward,  Philip  took  stock  of  his  surround- 
ings. 

Transatlantic  ship's  company  is  never  very  in- 
teresting. The  trip  is  too  short  to  make  it  pos- 
sible for  the  pleasant  people  to  get  to  know  one 
another:  only  the  bores  and  thrusters  have  time 
to  make  their  presence  felt.  On  this  occasion  the 
saloon  appeared  to  be  divided  fairly  evenly  be- 
tween music-hall  artistes  and  commercial  travel- 
lers of  Semitic  origin;  so  Philip,  wrapped  up  in  a 
rug,  addressed  himself  to  the  task  of  overtaking 
some  of  the  arrears  of  sleep  due  to  him  after  the 
recently  completed  Joy-Week. 

Next  morning,  experiencing  a  desire  for  society, 
Philip  descended  a  deck  upon  a  visit  to  the  second 
class,  feeling  tolerably  certain  that  here,  at  least, 
he  would  find  a  friend. 

He  was  right.  Miss  Jennings  was  sitting  by 
herself  under  the  lee  of  the  boiler  casing,  perusing 
a  novel. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  after  an  exchange  of  greetings, 
"I  dare  say  you  are  a  bit  surprised  to  see  me.  I  'm 
a  trifle  that  way  myself.  I  only  settled  to  do  it  a 
week  ago." 

"I  did  not  even  know  you  had  left  the  Britannia 
Company,"  said  Philip,  sitting  down.  "Tell  me 
about  it." 

"Well,"  explained  Miss  Jennings,  "there  isn't 
much  to  tell.  I  got  tired  of  Oxford  Street.  It 
did  n't  seem  to  be  leading  to  much,  and  I  was  n't 
getting  any  younger;  and  just  about  six  months 
ago  I  had  had  a  letter  from  a  girl  friend  of  mine 
who  had  settled  in  New  York,  saying  that  a  good 


352  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

stenographer  could  do  twice  as  well  there  as  in 
London.  So  I  decided  to  go  —  if  only  for  a  bit  of 
a  change." 

"What  about  your  mother  and  sister?"  asked 
Philip. 

"Oh,  you  haven't  heard.  Poor  Mother  died  over 
a  year  ago,  when  you  were  away  at  Coventry. 
I'm  just  out  of  black  for  her  now.  May  is  married. 
I  have  been  living  with  her  and  Tom  for  some  time 
back.  I  did  n't  like  it  much.  Makes  you  feel 
inferior-like,  living  in  a  house  belonging  to  a 
married  sister  that's  plainer  than  yourself.  That's 
all  about  me.  I  hope  you  are  very  well,  Mr. 
Meldrum.  You  are  out  on  the  Company's  business, 
I  suppose?" 

"Yes,"  said  Philip.  He  explained  the  nature  of 
his  trip. 

"They  were  saying  at  Oxford  Street,"  pursued 
Miss  Jennings,  with  the  air  of  one  who  is  anxious 
to  avoid  all  appearance  of  asking  for  information, 
"that  you  were  going  to  be  made  a  partner." 

"It  was  talked  about,"  said  Philip,  "but  nothing 
at  all  came  of  it.  They  wanted  me  to  risk  rather 
more  capital  in  the  business  than  I  happen  to 
possess." 

"  Don't  you  worry  about  capital,  Mr.  Meldrum," 
said  Miss  Jennings.  "It's  your  brains  they're  after. 
Bob  Br  —  a  gentleman  I  know  told  me  that  he  had 
heard  from  some  one  behind  the  scenes  that  they 
don't  mean  to  let  you  go  at  any  price.  They  can't 
afford  to  have  your  inventions  taken  up  by  other 
people.  It  was  just  a  try-on,  telling  you  you  must 
put  a  lot  of  money  into  the  business.  Next  time 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      353 

they  mention  the  matter,  you  name  your  terms 
and  stick  to  them!" 

Philip  thanked  her. 

"  Of  course  I  've  no  call,"  admitted  Miss  Jennings, 
"to  be  giving  you  advice.  But  I  was  n't  born  with 
my  mouth  sewn  up,  and  you  never  were  one  to 
put  yourself  forward,  were  you?  " 

Philip  admitted  that  possibly  this  was  true,  and 
the  conversation  passed  to  the  inevitable  topic  of 
old  times  and  old  friends. 

"How  is  Brand,  by  the  way?"  asked  Philip. 
"He  was  an  admirer  of  yours,  I  believe?" 

"Brand?"  said  Miss  Jennings  carelessly.  "Oh 
—  the  mechanic?  I  believe  he  is  getting  on  very 
well.  First  foreman,  then  manager  of  the  garage; 
and  now  that  you  are  gone  he  and  Mr.  Rendle 
pretty  well  own  the  earth  between  them,  so  I 
gather.  Brand  is  quite  the  gentleman  now.  I  hear 
he  has  given  up  making  a  spectacle  of  himself  in 
the  Park  of  a  Sunday.  Mr.  Rendle  is  the  same  as 
ever.  He  misses  you  at  the  flat,  though." 

"You  seem  to  know  all  about  our  domestic 
arrangements,"  said  Philip,  much  amused. 

"Nobody  that  wasn't  born  deaf-and-dumb," 
said  Miss  Jennings  with  decision,  "could  see 
Mr.  Rendle  six  hours  a  day  for  six  days  a  week 
without  knowing  every  blessed  thing  about  him, 
and  a  jolly  sight  more,  from  his  own  lips.  His 
young  ladies,  and  everything!  He  brought  one  to 
Oxford  Street,  the  other  day.  He  told  me  after- 
wards - 

"What  was  she  like?"  asked  Philip  instantly. 

"I  did  n't  notice  her  particularly.    She  was  in 


354          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

the  show-room  looking  at  motors  most  of  the  time, 
and  only  stepped  into  the  office  for  a  minute.  She 
was  quite  simply  dressed,  it  being  the  morning, 
but  her  clothes  were  good  all  through.  I  picked  up 
two  or  three  ideas  for  myself  straight  off.  Shoes, 
for  one  thing.  Hers  were  the  neatest  I  ever  saw  — 
brown  suede  with  silver  buckles.  No  cheap  Ameri- 
can ready-mades,  or  anything  of  that  kind.  As 
for  her  coat  and  skirt,  you  could  see  they'd  been 
cut  by  a  tailor,  and  her  hat  was  one  of  these  simple 
little  things  that  fit  close  to  the  head  and  look  as 
if  they  could  be  put  together  for  half -nothing; 
but  I  know  better.  It  came  out  of  — ' 

"What  was  she  like?"  repeated  a  patient  voice. 

"I'm  trying  to  tell  you,"  replied  Miss  Jennings, 
a  little  offended. 

"Yes,  but  her  appearance?    Not  her  clothes." 

Miss  Jennings  pondered. 

"I  didn't  really  have  time  to  notice  her  appear- 
ance," she  said  at  length;  "but  she  was  what  I 
should  call  a  middling  blonde.  She  was  wearing 
one  of  those  new  blouses,  with  a  V-shaped  — " 

"I  think  it  must  have  been  Miss  Falconer," 
said  Philip,  with  an  air  of  great  detachment. 

"  Yes,  that  was  the  name,"  replied  Miss  Jennings. 
"Mr.  Rendle  told  me  he  was  very  sorry  for  her. 
He  said  thousands  of  gentlemen  were  in  love  with 
her  —  you  know  the  silly  way  he  talks  — ' 

"Yes,"  said  Philip,  with  a  gulp.  "Well?" 

"But  she  could  never  marry  any  of  them." 

"Why,  I  wonder?" 

"Because  of  her  father,"  explained  the  ever- 
ready  Miss  Jennings.  "  She  won 't  ever  leave  him, 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      355 

him  being  a  widower,  and  very  peculiar  in  his 
manner,  and  unable  to  look  after  himself.  A  bit 
silly-like,  from  all  accounts.  Seems  to  me  to  be 
asking  a  good  lot  of  a  girl,  to  stay  at  home  to  look 
after  an  old  image  like  that.  That 's  only  supposing, 
of  course,  that  she  wants  to  marry  one  of  these 
thousands  of  hers.  She 's  welcome  to  the  lot,  so  far 
as  I'm  concerned." 

"Yes,  rather!"  agreed  Philip  absently. 

So  thai  was  the  reason!  And  he  had  never 
guessed.  Well,  it  made  his  own  chances  no  brighter, 
but  it  took  a  load  from  his  mind.  Peggy  was  back 
on  a  higher  pedestal  than  ever,  and  her  silent 
knight  could  now  worship  her  without  reservation. 
She  was  acquitted  for  all  time  of  the  charge  of 
being  hard,  or  callous,  or  unfeminine. 

The  Bosphorus  was  rolling  heavily  when  Philip 
rose  next  morning,  but  his  sea-legs  were  good,  and 
he  proceeded  to  his  toilet  with  no  particular 
pangs  save  those  of  hunger.  After  shaving  he  put 
on  a  dressing-gown  and  staggered  along  an  alley- 
way in  search  of  a  bath.  Presently  an  illuminated 
sign  informed  him  that  he  had  reached  his  desti- 
nation. He  turned  into  the  first  empty  bathroom, 
where  a  man  in  a  white  jacket  was  tidying  up  after 
the  last  occupant. 

"Bath,  please,"  said  Philip.  "Chill  just  off." 
The  man  turned  his  back  and  set  going  a  spout- 
ing cataract,  and  the  bath  was  half-full  of  salt 
water  in  less  than  a  minute.  There  are  no  corpora- 
tion restrictions  or  half -inch  pipes  in  oceanic  bath- 
rooms :  you  simply  open  a  sluice  and  let  in  as  much 


356  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

of  the  Atlantic  as  you  require.  The  man  next 
lowered  a  long  hinged  pipe  into  the  bottom  of 
the  bath,  and  gave  a  twist  to  a  little  valve- wheel 
on  the  wall.  Straightway  a  violent  subaqueous 
crackling  announced  that  live  steam  from  the 
boilers  was  performing  its  allotted  task  of  taking 
the  chill  off. 

"That  will  do,  thank  you,"  said  Philip  pres- 
ently. 

The  bath-steward  turned  off  the  valve,  and  the 
crackling  ceased.  Philip  sat  down  upon  the  edge 
of  the  bath. 

"Well,  Brand,"  he  said,  "how  does  the  Bos- 
phorus  compare  with  Oxford  Street?" 

He  held  out  his  hand,  and  Mr.  Brand,  having 
overcome  his  surprise,  shook  it  resentfully. 

"I  suppose  you  are  surprised  to  come  across  me 
here,"  he  remarked  defiantly. 

"Not  altogether,"  replied  Philip,  thinking  of  the 
second  class;  "but  I  did  not  expect  to  find  you 
swabbing  bathrooms." 

"I  wasn't  going  to  waste  good  money  travelling 
as  a  passenger,"  said  Brand  sullenly.  "I  tried  to 
get  taken  on  in  the  engine-room,  but  they  would  n't 
look  at  me  without  marine  engineering  experience; 
so  I  had  to  be  content  with  this.  It's  only  for  a 
week." 

"You  are  n't  coming  back,  then?" 

"It  depends,"  said  Brand  shortly.  "Not  at 
present." 

"Have  you  given  up  the  Britannia  Company?" 

"Yes:  handed  in  me  resignation  Friday  after- 
noon," 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      357 

"What  on  earth  for?  You  were  climbing  to  the 
top  of  the  tree  there." 

"I  preferred  to  be  on  the  ground,'*  said  Brand 
oracularly. 

Philip  decided  not  to  press  for  information. 

"Still,  I'm  sorry,"  he  said. 

"Why?  I  wasn't  fired,  if  that's  what  you 
mean,"  said  Brand  swiftly. 

At  this  moment  another  passenger  came  tacking 
down  the  alleyway,  and  Brand  departed  in  the 
further  execution  of  his  official  duties. 

There  are  no  facilities  upon  ocean  liners  for 
promoting  social  intercourse  between  bath-stewards 
and  cabin  passengers,  so  Philip  did  not  see  Brand 
again  until  the  same  hour  the  following  morning. 

"By  the  way,  Brand,"  he  said,  as  he  waited  for 
the  proper  adjustment  of  the  bath's  temperature, 
"there  is  a  mutual  friend  of  ours  on  board,  travel- 
ling second  class.  Did  you  know?" 

"Yes,"  said  Brand  thickly,  "I  did." 

He  swung  the  steam-pipe  savagely  back  into  its 
clip,  flung  two  hot  towels  down  on  a  seat,  and  de- 
parted, banging  the  door  behind  him.  That  was 
the  beginning  and  end  of  the  second  day's  con- 
versation. 

Philip  saw  nothing  of  Miss  Jennings  during  the 
next  few  days,  for  the  weather  continued  to  be 
boisterous,  and  that  lady  —  unlike  other  and  less 
considerate  members  of  the  ship's  company  - 
preferred  to  endure  the  pangs  of  mal-de-mer  in  the 
seclusion  of  her  own  cabin.  It  was  not  until  the 
fourth  day  out  that  he  saw  her  again.  She  was 


358  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

reclining  languidly  in  a  chair,  convalescent,  but 
obviously  disinclined  for  conversation.  Philip 
passed  her  by. 

The  fifth  day  broke  bright  and  sunny,  and  the 
Bosphorus,  clear  of  the  Newfoundland  Banks,  with 
their  accompanying  fogs  and  ground-swell,  became 
a  centre  of  social  activity.  Vigorous  couples 
tramped  up  and  down,  snuffing  the  breeze.  Un- 
pleasant children  ran  shrieking  round  the  deck, 
galloping  over  the  same  sets  of  toes  at  regular 
intervals.  Elderly  gentlemen  played  interminable 
games  of  deck-quoits  and  bull-board.  In  the 
smoking-room  enthusiastic  alcoholists  gathered, 
to  splice  the  main  brace  and  bid  in  the  auction 
sweep-stake  on  the  day's  run.  New  York  was  only 
twenty-four  hours  away. 

Philip,  descending  to  his  cabin  for  a  book,  passed 
Citizen  Brand,  polishing  cabin  doorhandles  with 
fierce  energy.  He  paused. 

"Brand,"  he  said,  "I  want  to  have  a  palaver 
with  you.  Can  you  come  and  see  me  in  my  cabin 
this  evening?" 

Brand  considered. 

"I  shall  get  a  telling-off  from  the  second  steward 
if  I  do,"  he  said.  "Regular  Cossack,  he  is.  This 
ship 's  full  of  rotten  rules  and  red-tape.  Still,  after 
all,  he  can  only  sack  me,  which  will  save  me  the 
trouble  of  deserting.  All  right:  I'll  come." 

He  appeared  in  Philip's  cabin  at  ten  o'clock  that 
night,  and  consented  to  drink  whiskey-and-water 
out  of  a  tooth-glass. 

"Well,"  enquired  Philip,  lighting  his  pipe,  "what 
are  your  prospects  in  the  States.  Got  a  berth?" 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      359 

"Not  yet,"  said  Brand. 

"  I  am  going  on  a  visit  to  some  of  the  big  estab- 
lishments out  there.  If  I  come  across  anything  that 
would  suit  you,  shall  I  put  it  in  your  way?" 

Brand  thanked  him  gruffly,  and  said:  - 

"I  don't  know.  I  don't  know  what  to  say.  The 
fact  is,  I  don't  know  where  I  shall  have  to  live 
yet." 

"Have  to  live?" 

"Yes,  have  to  live.  I  can't  settle  anything.  I  - 
Oh,  damn  it,  I  don't  know!  Leave  me  alone!" 

He  sat  staring  savagely  at  the  floor,  with  his 
head  in  his  hands. 

"Brand,  my  friend,"  remarked  Philip,  puffing 
at  his  pipe,  "you  and  I  have  been  acquainted  for 
a  considerable  time  now,  have  n't  we?" 

Brand  nodded,  and  Philip  continued:  - 

"I'm  going  to  assume  the  privilege  of  an  old 
friend,  and  enquire  into  your  private  affairs." 

"Fat  lot  of  information  you'll  get,"  was  the 
gracious  reply. 

"Very  well,  then,"  said  Philip  cheerfully.  "I 
won't  enquire:  I'll  assume.  Having  assumed  that 
everything  I  meant  to  ask  about  is  as  I  think  it  is, 
I'll  tell  you  something.  It's  this :  you  are  a  pretty 
good  chap." 

Brand's  gloomy  eyes  turned  upon  Philip  sus- 
piciously. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  he  snarled. 

"I  mean  this.  You  have  done  a  pretty  fine 
thing.  If  the  information  interests  you,  I  may  tell 
you  that  you  have  taught  me  a  lesson;  but  that 's 
beside  the  point.  Last  Friday  you  were  in  a  com- 


360  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

fortable  berth,  doing  well,  and  rising  rapidly. 
To-day  you  are  a  bath-steward,  without  any  status 
or  prospects .  Why  ? ' ' 

"Because  I'm  a  blasted  fool,"  replied  Brand. 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,"  continued  Philip,  "I 
prefer  to  look  at  it  differently.  You  have  sacrificed 
everything,  and  staked  your  whole  future  —  on 
what?  On  an  Idea  —  a  single  Idea.  I  call  that  a 
pretty  fine  thing." 

"What  Idea?"  snapped  Brand. 

"A  very  pretty  little  Idea,"  said  Philip.  "She  is 
now  sleeping  peacefully  two  decks  below  this." 

Brand  sprang  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  blazing. 

"And  why  not?"  he  demanded.  "Do  you  deny 
my  right  to  follow  her,  and  look  after  her,  and  see 
she  comes  to  no  harm,  whatever  she  may  think  of 
me  or  do  to  me?  I  love  her!  Do  you  understand 
what  that  means?  I  love  her!  Gentlemen  like  you 
and  Rendle,  you  don't  know  the  meanin'  of  the 
word.  With  you  it's  just:  'Fine  girl,  what?  Come 
and  have  supper  at  the  Savoy  to-night ! '  That 's 
what  you  call  love!"  Brand's  arms  were  waving: 
he  was  rapidly  lapsing  into  his  old  Hyde  Park 
manner.  "When  you've  finished  with  one  girl,  or 
the  girl 's  finished  with  you,  what  do  you  do?  Kiss 
your  'and  and  get  another!  Bah!" 

"And  what  do  you  do,  Brand,"  enquired  Philip 
imperturbably,  "when  a  lady  gives  you  up?" 

"I  give  up  my  job :  I  give  up  everything,  so  as  to 
be  free;  and  I  follow  her.  That's  what  I  do.  She's 
a  child:  she's  not  able  to  look  after  herself." 

"Now,  my  impression  of  Miss  Jennings's  char- 
acter," said  Philip,  "is  exactly  the  opposite.  I  have 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      361 

rarely  met  a  woman  who  seemed  to  me  so  well- 
balanced  and  self-possessed." 

"Up  to  a  point,  and  in  a  manner  of  speaking," 
agreed  Brand,  conversing  more  rationally  now, 
"you  are  right.  But  that 's  a  woman  all  over.  She 
may  keep  her  head  for  months  at  a  time,  and  snap 
her  fingers  at  man  after  man;  and  then  one  fine  day 
a  fellow  comes  along  that's  no  better  than  fifty 
others  she's  turned  down  —  and  what  does  she 
do?  She  goes  potty!  She  crumples  up!  She  crawls 
round  him  and  eats  out  of  his  hand!  Why  is  it? 
In  God's  name,  sir,  why  is  it?" 

His  head  dropped  into  his  hands  again. 

"When  did  this  happen?"  asked  Philip  gently. 
He  felt  strangely  awed  in  the  presence  of  this 
elemental  soul. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  said  Brand.  "It'll  do  me  good. 
She  and  I  had  been  getting  on  pretty  well  of  late. 
We  were  n't  exactly  engaged,  but  she  allowed  no 
other  man  near  her  but  me.  I  gave  up  a  lot  to 
please  her.  I  gave  up  speaking  in  the  Park,  because 
she  said  it  was  n't  gentlemanly.  I  joined  the 
Church  of  England  —  me  that 's  been  a  Free- 
thinker ever  since  I  could  think !  I  gave  up  being  a 
Socialist,  because  she  said  it  was  low.  I  cut  my 
wings,  and  clamped  myself  down,  and  dressed 
myself  up  like  a  Guy  Fawkes  —  all  to  please  her. 
I  let  her  order  me  about,  and  I  liked  it !  I  liked 
it!  That's  pretty  degrading,  ain't  it?  I  felt  de- 
graded and  in  love  at  the  same  time,  if  you  know 
what  I  mean.  That's  a  rotten  state  to  be  in,  I 
don't  think!" 

Philip  was  listening  intently.  Somewhere  in  the 


362  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

back  of  his  mind  he  felt  that  he  had  heard  this 
story  before.  Then  he  remembered  Uncle  Joseph, 
and  realised  that  all  human  experience  appears  to 
run  upon  much  the  same  lines. 

"Well,  we  were  happy  enough,"  continued 
Brand,  "for  a  matter  of  two  years  or  so.  The  only 
trouble  was  that  when  I  suggested  marriage  she 
said  she  was  very  comfortable  as  she  was  and  did 
not  want  to  lose  her  independence.  (They  're  all 
for  independence  nowadays:  I  don't  know  what 
causes  it:  Board  Schools,  perhaps.)  In  her  com- 
pany I  was  too  pleased  with  life  ever  to  argue 
about  anything,  so  I  did  n't  press  it.  But  there 
was  one  big  risk  that  I  overlooked,  and  that  was 
the  risk  of  another  man  butting  in.  And  that's 
just  what  happened.  A  feller  came  along.  He  had 
everything  that  I  had  n't  —  fine  manners  and 
plenty  of  silly  talk,  and  nasty  little  love-making 
ways.  He  put  the  come-hither  on  Lil.  As  I  told  you 
in  a  fortnight  she  was  eating  out  of  his  hand.  I  'm 
not  the  man  to  take  that  sort  of  thing  lying  down. 
I  asked  her  straight  what  she  meant  by  it.  She 
flared  up,  and  asked  when  I  had  been  appointed 
her  keeper.  I  said  we  was  engaged.  She  said  we 
was  no  such  thing.  I  said  if  we  was  n't  it  was  about 
time,  considering  all  things,  that  we  was.  She 
asked  what  I  meant  by  that.  I  said  if  she  had  any 
sort  of  notion  of  fair  play  she  would  know.  After 
that  she  told  me  she  never  wanted  to  see  me  again. 
I  said  she  was  only  anticipating  my  own  wishes; 
and  we  parted.  We  ain  't  spoke  since.  That  was 
six  weeks  ago." 

**  What  became  of  the  other  man?  "  asked  Philip. 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      363 

Brand  smiled  grimly. 

"Him?  I  went  to  him  next  day,  and  told  him  if 
ever  he  spoke  to  Lil  again  I'd  push  his  face  in." 

"What  did  he  say  to  that?" 

"He  was  most  gentlemanly  about  it.  Oh,  most 
gentlemanly!"  Brand  assumed  the  mincing  accent 
which  he  reserved  for  his  impersonations  of  the 
aristocracy.  "Told  me  he  had  no  desire  to  come 
between  an  honest  working-man  and  his  future 
wife.  Said  he  was  not  permanently  interested  in  the 
lady!  He  got  no  further  than  that,  because  that 
was  where  I  did  push  his  face  in.  He  was  a  nasty 
sight  when  I'd  finished  with  him.  He  never  went 
near  Lil  again,  though,  —  the  rabbit!  Since  than 
not  a  word  has  passed  between  her  and  me,  except 
when  business  required.  Then,  last  Friday,  I  saw 
her  going  round  the  office  and  garage  saying  good- 
bye to  everybody  —  except  me,  of  course  —  and 
telling  them  she  was  going  to  America.  I  waited 
till  the  dinner-hour;  then  wrote  to  headquarters, 
resigned  my  job,  and  went  straight  to  Liverpool, 
where  I  managed  to  get  signed  on  aboard  this 
boat.  That's  all." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  when  you  get  to 
New  York?"  asked  Philip. 

"I  don't  know.  It  depends  on  what  Lil  does," 
replied  single-minded  Citizen  Brand. 

"Well,  how  do  you  like  the  prospect  of  New 
York  to-morrow,  Miss  Jennings?"  asked  Philip. 

They  were  leaning  over  the  taffrail  in  the  calm 
darkness,  watching  the  phosphorescent  wake  of  the 
great  propellers. 


364  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"At  the  present  moment,"  confessed  Miss 
Jennings  frankly,  "I  don't  like  it  at  all.  It's  a  way 
things  have  when  you  get  right  up  against  them. 
They  don't  look  so  nice  as  they  did  at  a  distance." 

"You  are  not  in  your  usual  spirits  to-night." 

"No,"  said  the  girl,  "and  that's  a  fact.  I'm  not. 
Worst  of  being  a  woman  is  that  you  can't  trust 
yourself  to  be  sensible  all  the  time.  You  do  a  thing, 
and  you  know  you're  doing  right,  and  you  go  on 
knowing  it  was  right  for  weeks  on  end;  and  then, 
just  when  you  want  to  feel  that  you  were  right 
most  especially,  you  go  and  feel  that  you  've  been 
wrong  all  the  time.  Silly,  I  call  it!  Sometimes  I 
want  to  shake  myself." 

"You  feel  you  wish  you  had  not  left  London? 
Is  that  the  trouble?  " 

"Ye  —  es,"  said  Miss  Jennings  reluctantly. 

"I'm  surprised,"  said  Philip,  cautiously  opening 
fire,  "that  you  were  ever  allowed  to  forsake  your 
native  land." 

"Who  by?"  enquired  Miss  Jennings  swiftly. 

"Well,  there  are  a  good  many  thousand  young 
men  there,  you  know.  It  does  n  't  show  much  enter- 
prise on  their  part  — " 

"Mr.  Meldrum,"  remarked  Miss  Jennings 
frankly,  "if  you  start  making  pretty  speeches,  the 
end  of  the  world  must  be  coming.  A  good  many 
thousand  young  men,  indeed!" 

"Well,"  persisted  the  abashed  but  pertinacious 
Philip,  "let  us  say  one  young  man.  Surely  there 
was  just  one?" 

Miss  Jennings  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then 
she  replied :  — 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      365 

"Yes,  there  was  one." 

"More  than  one?" 

"No.  At  least,  there  was  only  one  that  I  really 
fancied.  It  was  a  queer  thing  that  I  should  have 
cared  for  him  at  all.  (It's  all  over  now,  so  there's 
no  harm  in  my  telling  you  about  it.)  We  were 
always  having  words  one  way  and  another.  We 
had  nothing  in  common,  really.  Very  stuck  on  his 
opinions  he  was,  and  always  laying  down  the  law. 
His  ideas  were  n  't  very  gentlemanly,  either.  He 
was  a  Socialist,  and  did  n't  belong  to  the  Church ; 
but  I  cured  him  of  that.  I  must  say  I  improved 
him  wonderfully." 

"Was  he  grateful?"  asked  Philip. 

"He  was,  and  he  was  n 't.  He  would  do  anything 
I  asked  him;  but  if  it  went  against  the  grain  with 
him  to  do  it  he  would  say  so  before  he  did  it  — 
sometimes  all  the  time  he  was  doing  it;  and  that 
rather  spoils  your  pleasure,  does  n't  it?" 

"I  should  have  thought  it  would  increase  it," 
said  Philip.  "It  would  show  your  great  power  over 
him,  that  you  should  be  able  to  compel  him  to  do 
things  against  his  will." 

Miss  Jennings  deliberated. 

"Perhaps  you  are  right,"  she  said  at  last.  "I 
had  n 't  thought  of  it  that  way.  Still,  his  back-chat 
used  to  worry  me  to  death.  And  his  temper!  It 
was  so  fierce,  I  was  frightened  of  him.  He  was 
fierce,  too,  in  the  way  he  loved  me.  He  would 
carry  on  something  dreadful  at  times." 

"In  what  way?" 

"Well,  supposing  I  made  an  appointment  with 
him,  and  changed  my  mind  and  did  n 't  go  - 


366  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Did  you  do  that  often?" 

"Oh,  yes,  sometimes.  It's  a  good  thing  to  do," 
explained  the  experienced  Miss  Jennings.  "If  you 
don't  act  like  that  sometimes  —  promise  to  meet 
him  somewhere  and  then  forget  —  a  man  begins  to 
think  he's  engaged  to  you.  If  a  girl  does  n't  respect 
herself,  who  else  will?  That's  what  I  say.  Then  his 
jealousy  —  my  word ! " 

For  a  moment  Miss  Jennings's  cheerful  little 
Cockney  voice  grew  quite  shrill.  Then  came  an 
expressive  silence,  which  Philip  construed  as  an 
aposiopetic  allusion  to  this  young  gentleman  whose 
face  had  been  pushed  in. 

"Still,"  he  persisted  gently,  "you  were  fond  of 
him?" 

Miss  Jennings  did  not  answer  immediately. 

"I  suppose  I  was,"  she  admitted  at  last.  "But 
I  think  I  was  more  sorry  for  him,  if  you  know  what 
I  mean.  He  did  n  't  know  how  to  look  after  himself: 
he  was  like  a  child:  he  wanted  a  nurse.  But  if  ever 
I  did  try  to  do  anything  for  him,  he  took  it  up 
wrong.  He  thought  I  was  getting  soft  on  him,  and 
before  you  could  turn  round  he  was  trying  to  lord 
it  over  me.  No,  this  affair  never  came  to  anything. 
It  never  could:  we  were  made  too  different,  both 
of  us.  Forget  it!" 

Miss  Jennings  ceased,  and  surveyed  the  long 
moonlit  streak  of  foam  astern  rather  wistfully. 
To-night  the  land  she  knew  and  the  man  she  had 
been  sorry  for  seemed  to  have  receded  to  infinity: 
over  the  bow  of  the  ship  the  unknown  was  creeping, 
hand  over  hand,  inexorably.  She  sighed,  and  then 
shivered.  She  was  realising  the  truth  of  her  own 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      367 

dictum  on  the  subject  of  a  woman's  inability  to  be 
sensible  all  the  time. 

Then  the  voice  of  Philip  broke  the  silence, 
expounding  the  simple  philosophy  of  his  simple  life. 

"Do  you  know,"  he  said,  "I  think  that  all 
things  are  possible  to  two  people  who  are  prepared 
to  make  allowances  for  one  another?  You  and  the 
man  you  speak  of  both  possess  strong  natures. 
You  both  wanted  to  be  master.  You  both  hated 
conceding  anything.  He  regarded  the  acts  of 
worship  that  a  woman  expects  of  the  man  who 
loves  her  as  a  form  of  humiliation;  he  was  content 
to  make  good  by  material  homage  —  presents, 
theatres,  and  so  on.  You  on  your  part  felt  that 
in  accepting  these  things  from  him  you  were 
weakening  your  own  independence  and  laying 
yourself  under  an  obligation  to  him.  So  he,  when 
he  made  actual  love  to  you,  did  so  reluctantly  and 
half-heartedly  —  did  n't  he?" 

"I  should  think  he  did!"  affirmed  the  epicurean 
Miss  Jennings. 

" —  While  you  could  never  accept  his  gifts  and 
his  arrangements  for  your  entertainment  without 
just  a  little  —  what  shall  we  say?  —  a  dash  of 
vinegar?" 

The  girl  nodded. 

"That's  it,"  she  said. 

"Now,"  proceeded  Philip,  too  much  immersed 
in  his  subject  to  be  surprised  at  his  own  fluency, 
"when  two  people  who  love  one  another  reach 
that  stage,  they  must  get  over  it  at  once,  or  there 
will  be  friction,  and  finally  disaster.  Each  must 
learn  at  once  to  consider  things  from  the  other's 


368  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

point  of  view  —  make  allowances,  in  fact.  Brand 
ought  to  — 

"  Who  ?  "  enquired  a  sharp  voice  at  his  side. 

* — Brand.  It  was  Brand,  wasn't  it?" 

Miss  Jennings  nodded. 

"Yes,"  she  said  simply,  "it  was  Brand.  Go  on." 

"Brand,"  continued  Philip,  "ought  to  have  re- 
membered that  you  were  a  woman,  with  all  a 
woman's  reserve  and  instinct  of  self-defence;  and 
that  you  could  not  be  expected  to  wear  your  heart 
upon  your  sleeve." 

"Yes,  he  ought  to  have  remembered  that," 
agreed  Miss  Jennings.  "But  what  about  me? 
What  should  I  have  remembered?"  She  appeared 
almost  anxious  to  be  scolded. 

"This,"  said  Philip  —  "that  Brand  was  a  proud, 
passionate  man,  of  very  humble  birth,  terrified  of 
showing  you  his  heart  and  being  laughed  at  for  his 
pains  — 

The  girl  nodded  again. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "you  are  right.  I  ought  to  have 
remembered  that.  I  forgot  his  feelings  sometimes. 
Poor  Bob ! "  she  added  pensively. 

"So  you  see,"  concluded  Philip,  thankful  to 
feel  that  his  homily  was  almost  delivered,  "if  only 
you  two  could  get  accustomed  to  regarding  one 
another  in  that  light,  the  barrier  would  be  down 
for  ever.  A  barrier  can  never  stand  for  a  moment 
when  it  is  attacked  from  both  sides.  Make  allow- 
ances, Miss  Jennings!  Make  allowances!  Get  to 
know  one  another;  study  one  another;  appreciate 
one  another!  Then  Brand  can  pour  out  for  you 
all  that  shy,  inarticulate  worship  of  his,  without 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      369 

fear  of  indifference  or  ridicule,  and  you  can  surren- 
der with  all  the  honours  of  war.  Will  you  try?" 

"Will  I  try?"  echoed  Miss  Jennings  wonder- 
ingly.  "Isn't  it  a  little  late  in  the  day?" 

"Well  —  would  you  try?" 

"Would  I?"  Miss  Jennings's  voice  suddenly 
broke.  "What's  the  use  of  my  trying?"  she 
demanded  tearfully.  "Bob  's  on  the  other  side  of 
the  world  now  —  taken  up  with  another  girl  as 
likely  as  not.  What's  the  good  of  asking  me  what 
I  would  do  when  I  can't  do  it?" 

She  was  crying  in  earnest  now. 

"Supposing  —  just  supposing  —  "  began  Philip. 

"Oh,  stop  your  supposing!"  the  girl  blazed  out 
passionately.  "Don't  you  see  I  can't  bear  it?  I 
want  him!  I'm  frightened  of  everything,  and  I 
want  Bob!  And  it's  too  late!" 

"Stay  exactly  where  you  are  for  about  five 
minutes,"  commanded  Philip.  And  he  disappeared 
in  the  darkness. 

A  few  minutes  later  Bath-Steward  Brand  was 
incurring  the  risk  of  ignominious  expulsion  from 
the  service  of  the  merchant  marine  by  trespassing 
upon  a  portion  of  the  deck  strictly  reserved  for 
passengers. 

Philip  went  to  bed. 

Philip,  leaning  over  the  forward  rail  of  the  boat- 
deck  and  surveying  the  silhouette  of  New  York, 
rising  like  a  row  of  irregular  teeth  upon  the  distant 
horizon,  talked  to  himself  in  order  to  keep  his 
spirits  up. 


370  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

'  *  Theophilus ,  my  lad, ' '  -  he  liked  to  call  himself 
by  that  name,  because  Peggy  had  sometimes  used 
it,  —  "so  far,  your  scheme  of  fresh  friends  and 
pastures  new  has  turned  out  a  fizzle.  You  took  this 
trip  in  order  to  see  new  faces  and  make  new  friends, 
and  generally  put  the  past  behind  you.  The  net 
result  is  that  you  have  not  made  a  single  new 
acquaintance.  Instead,  you  have  devoted  your 
entire  energies  to  interfering  in  the  affairs  of  a 
second-class  lady  passenger  and  a  bath-steward, 
neither  of  whom  can  be  described  under  any  cir- 
cumstances as  a  new  friend.  You  must  make  a  real 
effort  when  you  land." 

But  Fate  was  against  him.  He  descended  to  the 
saloon,  and  having  there  satisfied  an  Immigration 
official,  sitting  behind  a  pile  of  papers,  that  he  was 
neither  a  pauper,  a  lunatic,  nor  an  anarchist,  could 
read  and  write,  and  was  not  suffering  from  any 
disease  of  the  eyeball,  he  purchased  one  of  the 
newspapers  which  the  pilot  had  brought  on  board 
in  the  early  morning,  and  retired  to  a  sunny  corner 
to  occupy  himself,  after  a  week's  abstention,  in 
getting  abreast  of  the  news  of  the  day.  He  unfolded 
the  crackling  sheet. 

It  was  his  first  introduction  to  that  stupendous 
organ  of  private  opinion,  the  American  newspaper. 
.  .  .  When  he  had  recovered  his  breath,  and  the 
shouting  scarelines  had  focussed  themselves  into 
some  sort  of  proportion,  he  worked  methodically 
through  the  entire  journal,  discovering  ultimately, 
to  his  relief,  that  nothing  very  dreadful  had 
happened  after  all.  He  had  almost  finished,  when 
his  eye  fell  upon  a  small  paragraph  at  the  foot  of  a 


A  BRAND  FROM  THE  BURNING      371 

column,  with  its  headlines  set  in  comparatively 
modest  type. 

CUPID  GETS  BUSY  IN  THE  STUDIO 


WELL-KNOWN  BRITISH  PAINTERS  WED 
LOVE  COMES  LATE  IN  LIFE 

TO  MONTAGU  FALCONER 

ASSOCIATE  OF  BRITISH  ACADEMY 

AND  JEAN  LESLIE 

FAMOUS  WOMAN  MINIATURIST 


We  cull  the  following  from  the  London  "Times": 

Falconer-Leslie.  At  St.  Peter's,  Eaton  Square, 
on  the  Jfth  inst.,  Montagu  Falconer,  A.R.A.,  to 
Jean  Leslie,  only  daughter  of  the  late  General  Sir 
Ian  Leslie,  V.C.,  of  Inverdurie,  Invemesshire. 

A  quarter  of  a  column  followed,  expatiating  upon 
the  fact  that  the  wedding  took  place  very  quietly 
at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  that  reporters 
had  met  with  a  discouraging  reception  from  the 
bridegroom.  Then  came  a  list  of  Montagu's  best- 
known  pictures.  But  Philip  did  not  read  it.  He 
threw  the  paper  down  on  deck,  and  started  to  his 
feet. 

The  Bosphorus  had  come  to  a  standstill  at  the 
opening  of  her  berth,  waiting  for  the  tugs  to  turn 
her  in.  Protruding  from  the  next  opening  was  the 
forepart  of  a  monster  liner,  from  whose  four  funnels 
smoke  was  spouting. 


372  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Philip  enquired  of  a  passing  quartermaster:  — 

"What  ship  is  that,  please?" 

"The  Caspian,  sir.  Our  record-breaker!"  said 
the  man,  with  proper  pride.  "She  sails  for  Liver- 
pool at  noon." 

Half  an  hour  later  Philip  found  himself  and  his 
belongings  dumped  upon  the  Continent  of  Am- 
erica. A  minion  of  the  rapacious  but  efficient  ring 
of  buccaneers  which  controls  the  entire  transport 
system  of  the  United  States  confronted  him. 

"Where  shall  I  express  your  baggage?"  he 
enquired. 

"You  can  put  it  on  board  the  Caspian,"  replied 
Philip. 

"Geej"  remarked  the  expressman  admiringly. 
"Some  hustler,  ain't  you?" 

"I  am,"  said  Philip  — "this  trip!   Get  busy!" 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   FIRST   EPISTLE   OF  THEOPHILU8 

"PRETTY  hot  stuff  this  port  of  yours,  old  son  - 
what?" 

"Take  some  more,"  grunted  Philip. 

"Thank  you.  That  was  the  situation  I  was 
endeavouring  to  lead  up  to,"  said  Timothy,  and 
helped  himself. 

"It's  a  blessing  to  see  your  honest  but  homely 
features  once  again,"  he  continued,  lifting  his 
glass,  "especially  when  you  signalise  your  return 
by  replenishing  the  wine-cellar.  Chin-chin,  old 
thing!" 

Philip,  sitting  on  one  chair  with  his  feet  on 
another  and  smoking  a  briar  pipe,  grunted  again. 
Timothy  rose,  and  lit  a  cigarette  with  a  live  coal 
from  the  fire.  (Matches  were  never  a  conspicuous 
feature  of  a  bachelor  establishment,  however  well 
regulated.)  As  he  did  so,  his  eye  was  caught  by  a 
pair  of  tall  and  hideous  vases,  —  of  the  kind  which 
is  usually  given  away  at  cooperative  stores  to  cus- 
tomers who  have  been  rash  enough  to  accumulate 
a  certain  number  of  coupons, —  standing  one  at 
each  end  of  the  mantelpiece. 

"Oh,  my  dear  old  Theophilus,"  moaned  the 
aesthetic  Timothy,  "do  you  mean  to  say  you  have 
resurrected  the  Bulgarian  Atrocities?" 

The  ornaments  in  question  had  been  a  Christmas 


374  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

present  from  Mrs.  Grice.  ("I  bought  'em  just 
before  closing-time  at  a  Sale  of  Work  what  my 
married  sister  in  the  Wandsworth  Road  was 
interested  in,  sir,"  she  had  explained.  "A  Sale  of 
Work  in  aid  of  the  Bulgarian  Atrocities,  it  was. 
I  said  to  Grice  at  the  time  that  they  would  brighten 
up  your  room  something  wonderful.  There  they 
are,  sir,  with  our  respectful  Christmas  wishes  — 
one  from  Grice  and  one  from  me.  Oh,  thank  you 
sir!")  Hence  their  name. 

"Yes,"  said  Philip;  "Mrs.  Grice  got  them  out  of 
the  cupboard  as  soon  as  I  returned,  and  they  were 
duly  washed  and  put  up  this  morning.  I  was 
hoping  she  had  forgotten  about  them;  but  they 
will  have  to  stay  there  now.  We  must  n't  offend 
the  old  lady.  You  are  a  tremendous  swell  to-night, 
Tim.  Going  out?" 

"Yes,"  said  Tim  importantly,  "I  am."  He 
produced  a  pair  of  white  gloves  and  began  to  try 
them  on,  surveying  Philip's  aged  dinner-jacket  and 
black  tie  with  tolerant  indulgence. 

"I  must  now  pull  myself  together,"  he  an- 
nounced, turning  to  survey  an  appallingly  tight 
white  waistcoat  with  immense  satisfaction  in  the 
glass  over  the  mantelpiece,  ">,nd  pass  along 
quietly." 

"  You  needn't  go  yet,"  said  Philip,  filling  another 
pipe. 

"Despite  your  frenzied  entreaties,  old  son," 
replied  Timothy,  "  I  simply  must.  There  is  going 
to  be  dirty  work  at  the  crossroads  to-night,"  he 
added  mysteriously. 

Philip,  who  gathered  that  a  confidence  of  some 


FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THEOPHILUS    375 

kind  was  on  the  way,  waited.  It  was  good  to  see 
Timothy  again.  His  company  was  always  exhila- 
rating, and  at  the  present  juncture  it  was  extra 
welcome.  For  Philip  found  himself  at  an  unex- 
pectedly loose  end.  He  had  landed  from  the 
Caspian  a  week  before,  determined  this  time  to  put 
his  whole  fate  to  the  touch  —  only  to  find  that  his 
Lady  was  not  in  London.  Friends  in  Hampshire  - 
he  knew  neither  their  name  nor  address,  and  was 
much  too  self-conscious  to  enquire  at  Tite  Street  - 
had  snatched  her  away  directly  after  her  father's 
wedding,  and  the  date  of  her  return  was  uncertain. 
Therefore  he  leaned  at  this  moment  upon  Timothy. 

Presently  Tun  enquired :  — 

"I  say,  Phil,  ever  been  in  love,  old  friend?" 

This  was  a  familiar  gambit,  and  Philip  gave  his 
usual  reply. 

"  Occasionally." 

"  Anything  doing  at  present?  Anything  fresh?  " 

"  Nothing  to  write  home  about,  thanks." 

Timothy  surveyed  his  friend  critically. 

"I  wonder,"  he  said  musingly,  "if  Romance 
could  ever  really  find  a  lurking-place  in  that  gear- 
less,  valveless  little  heart!" 

"  Afraid  not,"  said.Philip.  "  Romance  gives  old 
fossils  like  me  the  go-by." 

"  Don't  talk  rot  of  that  kind,  Phil,"  replied  the 
boy  quickly.  "Any  woman  would  be  proud  to 
marry  you.  Fool  if  she  was  n't!"  he  added,  with 
real  sincerity. 

Philip  responded  by  waving  his  glass  in  his 
friend's  direction. 

"Mr.  Rendle,  your  health  and  sentiment!"  he 


376  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

remarked  gravely.  He  drank;  laid  down  the  glass; 
and  sat  up. 

"And  now,  my  son  Timothy,"  he  remarked 
briskly,  "get  it  off  your  chest!  Own  up!  Who  is 
she?  When  do  the  banns  go  up  —  eh?" 

"Get  what  off  my  chest?"  enquired  Tim,  with 
a  great  appearance  of  surprise. 

"This  great  secret.  Cough  it  up!  Who  is  the 
lady?" 

One  of  Philip's  greatest  virtues  in  the  eyes  of 
Timothy  was  that  he  never,  under  any  circum- 
stances, ended  that  particular  question  with  "  this 
time."  But  he  was  genuinely  surprised  at  Philip's 
penetration. 

"  Great  Scott!  It  must  be  written  all  over  me  if 
you  can  spot  it,  old  Bartimseus!"  he  said,  not 
altogether  displeased.  "Yes,  you  are  right.  It 
has  happened  at  last." 

"What?" 

"/*/  I'm  in  love." 

"  It  comes  to  us  all,  sooner  or  later,"  remarked 
Philip  tactfully. 

"And  I  am  going,"  announced  Tim  with  great 
firmness,  "  to  bring  it  off  this  very  night." 

Philip  glanced  at  the  clock. 

"  Quarter  to  ten,"  he  said.  "  A  bit  late  to  begin 
a  job  of  that  magnitude  to-night,  isn't  it?  Are  you 
going  to  apply  personally,  or  by  letter?" 

"What's  that?"  enquired  Timothy,  emerging 
from  a  rapturous  reverie. 

Philip  repeated  the  question. 

"  Letter?  "  exclaimed  Tim  with  infinite  scorn  - 
"a  letter?    Write?    Write  a  letter?    My  sainted 


FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THEOPHILUS    377 

aunt,  write?"  He  gazed  indignantly  upon  the 
automaton  before  him  that  called  itself  a  man. 
**  My  dear  old  relic  of  the  Stone  Age  - 

"In  the  Stone  Age,"  observed  the  relic,  "they 
could  n't  write." 

Timothy  made  reference  to  the  Stone  Age  which 
was  neither  seemly  nor  relevant,  and  continued:— 

"Do  you  expect  me  to  sit  down  and  write  - 
write  to  her  —  upon  such  a  subject  as  that?  Write 
—  with  a  three-and-nine-penny  fountain  pen,  on 
Silurian  notepaper  at  a  shilling  a  packet?  It 's  not 
done,  dear  old  soul;  it's  simply  not  done!" 

Timothy,  carefully  hitching  up  the  knees  of  his 
faultlessly  creased  trousers,  lowered  himself  on  to 
the  sofa,  the  picture  of  reproachful  scorn. 

"  If  it  takes  you  that  way,"  replied  the  unruffled 
Philip,  "  why  not  use  cream-laid  vellum  and  a  gold 
nib?" 

Timothy  merely  made  an  alarming  noise  at  the 
back  of  his  neck. 

"  Or  a  typewriter,  with  the  loud  pedal  down  and 
all  the  stops  out?"  pursued  the  facetious  Philip. 

"Phil,"  announced  Timothy,  with  a  pathetic 
attempt  to  look  extremely  stern  and  dignified, 
"  let  me  tell  you  that  I  am  in  no  mood  for  this  sort 
of  thing.  Dry  up,  man;  dry  up!  Do  you  think  I 
could  get  all  I  have  to  say  upon  this  occasion 
within  the  limits  of  an  ordinary  letter?  " 

"Under  the  present  postal  regulations,"  ex- 
plained Philip,  "you  can  send  four  ounces  for  a 
penny.  In  fact,  if  you  leave  the  ends  open- 

He  caught  sight  of  Tim's  tragic  face,  and  con- 
cluded his  entertainment. 


378          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Sorry,  old  chap!"  he  remarked,  suddenly 
contrite.  "  I  don't  know  why  one  should  try  to  pull 
a  man's  leg  on  these  occasions.  God  knows,  the 
business  is  serious  enough." 

"Thanks,"  said  Timothy  gratefully.  "To  tell 
you  the  truth,  I  am  feeling  pretty  bad  about  it. 
You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  hard  hit  by  a 
woman,  Phil." 

"No.  I  should  have  remembered  that,"  said 
Philip  apologetically. 

"  I  know  you  consider  me  a  young  blighter  who 
is  always  in  love  with  some  little  piece  of  goods  or 
other,"  continued  the  chastened  Timothy;  "but 
this  time  it  is  serious.  This  is  the  end  of  all  things. 
Never  before  have  I  got  sufficiently  fond  of  a  girl 
to  ask  her  to  marry  me;  but  I  am  going  to  do  it 
to-night." 

"  I  wish  you  luck,"  said  Philip  with  feeling. 

"  Thanks,  old  friend,"  responded  the  boy  grate- 
fully. "  I'm  in  a  terrible  twitter." 

"Why  not  write?"  reiterated  the  methodically 
minded  Philip.  "  A  letter  has  its  points,  you  know. 
I  understand  that  on  these  occasions  it  is  a  little 
difficult  to  keep  one's  head.  Metaphors  get  mixed; 
telling  points  are  omitted;  and  the  peroration  halts, 
or  misses  fire." 

"The  feverish  Timothy  eyed  his  friend  with 
amazed  compassion. 

"I  should  like  to  remind  you,"  he  observed, 
"  that  we  are  discussing  love-letters  —  not  election 
addresses!" 

"All  right,"  said  Philip  pacifically;  "have  it 
your  own  way.  All  I  wanted  to  bring  home  to  you 


FIRST  EPISTLE  OP  THEOPHILUS    379 

was  the  fact  that  once  you  get  your  sentiments 
safely  down  on  paper,  the  lady  is  bound  to  get  the 
hang  of  them  in  the  long  run.  On  the  other  hand,  if 
you  stake  everything  on  a  single  verbal  encounter, 
you  may  find  yourself  in  the  tumbril.  The  G.P.O. 
may  be  unromantic,  but  it  is  safe." 

But  Timothy  was  not  listening.  He  had  put  on 
his  greatcoat  and  was  now  adjusting  a  white  silk 
muffler. 

"  I  'm  going,"  he  announced  in  trumpet  tones, 
"  to  let  her  have  it  hot  and  strong.  I  'm  going  to 
carry  her  off  her  feet.  I  'm  going  -  The  devil  of 
it  all  is,"  he  added  disconsolately,  "  that  one  never 
knows  how  to  begin  —  when  to  chip  in,  in  fact. 
You  know!  One  can't  very  well  get  to  work  while 
shaking  hands;  there  has  to  be  a  little  preliminary 
chit-chat  of  some  kind.  Then,  the  conversation 
goes  and  settles  down  to  some  rotten,  irrelevant 
topic;  and  before  you  can  work  it  round  to  suit 
your  plans  the  next  dance  strikes  up,  or  some 
criminal  comes  and  interrupts  you,  or  else  it 's  time 
to  go  home.  And  there  you  are,  outside  on  the  mat 
once  more,  kicking  yourself  to  death ! " 

Timothy  cocked  his  silk  hat  upon  his  sleek  head 
with  great  precision,  and  concluded:  - 

"But  I  am  going  to  do  it  to-night,  or  perish. 
Give  me  five  minutes  in  the  Freeborns'  conserva- 
tory between  waltzes,  and  she  has  simply  got  to 
have  it!  Good-night!" 

He  bounced  out  of  the  room,  and  was  gone. 

"  I  wonder  who  the  charmer  is  this  time,"  mused 
Philip,  getting  up  and  knocking  out  his  pipe.  "  I 
might  have  asked  him." 


380  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

He  rang  the  bell,  and  after  a  moment  Mrs.  Grice 
glided  respectfully  into  the  room,  after  the  man- 
ner of  a  cardboard  figure  in  a  toy  theatre.  She 
was  followed  by  her  husband,  struggling  with  his 
coat. 

"'Ave  you  rang  the  bell,  sir?"  queried  Mrs. 
Grice. 

"Yes,"  said  Philip.  "Will  you  clear  away, 
please.  I  want  that  table  to-night  —  to  write  at." 

During  the  turmoil  which  now  ensued,  Philip 
sat  on  the  padded  leather  fire-guard  and  lit  another 
pipe.  Presently  he  said :  — 

"Mrs.  Grice!" 

Mra.  Grice,  engaged  in  a  bout  of  what  looked 
like  a  game  of  catch-as-catch-can  with  Mr.  Grice 
and  the  tablecloth,  immediately  extricated  herself 
from  her  damask  winding-sheet  and  came  respect- 
fully to  attention. 

"Sir?" 

"  Mrs.  Grice,  when  you  received  your  husband's 
proposal  of  marriage,  was  it  by  letter  or  word  of 
mouth?" 

Mrs.  Grice,  needless  to  say,  was  quite  over- 
whelmed with  maidenly  confusion.  Coming  from 
Timothy,  such  a  question  as  this  would  have  sur- 
prised her  not  at  all;  for  Timothy  was  one  of  those 
fortunate  persons  who  may  say  what  they  like  to 
any  one.  But  as  uttered  by  her  grave  and  reserved 
patron  Mr.  Meldrum,  it  sounded  most  alarming. 
She  replied,  breathlessly :  — 

"  Was  you  referring  to  Mr.  Grice  or  to  my  first 
'usband,  sir?" 

"  'Ow  should  Mr.  Meldrum,"  enquired  a  husky 


FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THEOPHILUS    381 

voice  from  the  sideboard,  "  know  you  ever  'ad  -a 
fust  'usband?" 

Mrs.  Grice,  having  now  recovered  her  mental 
poise,  countered  with  a  lightning  thrust. 

"  Knowing  you  as  he  does,  Grice,"  she  retorted, 
"  is  it  likely  Mr.  Meldrum  would  dream  of  regardin* 
you  as  my  first  choice?" 

Philip  broke  in  pacifically :  — 

"Let  us  say  your  first  husband,  Mrs.  Grice." 

"Well,  sir,"  began  Mrs.  Grice  readily,  "  'e  did 
it  by  word  of  mouth.  Leastways,  not  precisely. 
Partly  by  deputy,  if  you  take  my  meaning,  sir." 

Philip  made  an  apologetic  gesture. 

"Not  absolutely,"  he  said. 

"Well,  sir,"  continued  Mrs.  Grice,  beginning  to 
enjoy  herself,  "we'd  bin  walkin'  out  for  some  time, 
and  it  did  n't  look  like  ever  comin'  to  anything. 
So  my  brother  George,  'e  said  it  was  time  the  mat- 
ter was  took  up  proper.  George  was  a  brewer's 
drayman.  There  was  eleven  of  us  altogether!— 

"Not  quite  so  much  of  it!"  advised  Mr.  Grice, 
who  had  left  the  sideboard  to  join  the  symposium. 
"Get  back  to  your  first." 

Needless  to  say,  Mrs.  Grice  took  not  the  slightest 
notice. 

"Well,  sir,  George  told  me  to  tell  'Enery  —  that 
bein'  his  name;  Grice's,  as  you  know,  bein'  Al- 
bert—" 

"Keep  to  the  point,  do!"  groaned  Mr.  Grice. 

"—  George  told  me  to  tell  'Enery  -  -  'Enery 
'Orbling  his  full  name  was  —  that  if  him  and  me 
was  n't  married  inside  of  four  weeks,  George  would 
come  along  and  knock  his  'ead  off.  I  told  'Enery 


382  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

what  George  had  said,  sir,"  continued  the  old  lady 
in  a  tone  of  tender  reminiscence,  "and  I  became 
Mrs.  'Orbling  in  three  weeks  and  six  days  exactly. 
That's  what  I  meant  when  I  said  that  my  courting 
was  done  by  deputy.  'Orbling  died  fourteen  years 
ago,  in  Charing  Cross  Hospital.  His  kidneys  are 
still—" 

"I  see,"  said  Philip  hurriedly.  " Grice,  when  you 
asked  the  future  Mrs.  Grice  to  become  your  wife, 
how  did  you  set  about  it?" 

"Was  you  referrin',  sir,"  enquired  Mr.  Grice, 
with  a  respectful  wheeze,  "to  this  Mrs.  Grice  or  to 
my  first  wife?  " 

"Let  us  say  this  Mrs.  Grice,"  said  Philip,  begin- 
ning to  feel  a  little  dizzy. 

Mr.  Grice,  who  had  been  assisting  his  second 
choice  to  load  glasses  and  spoons  on  to  a  tray,  once 
more  desisted  from  his  labours  in  order  not  to 
confuse  his  brain,  and  began,  fixing  his  wavering 
eye  upon  a  point  on  the  wall  just  above  Philip's 
head: — 

"I  met  'er  at  a  birthday  party  at  my  late  first's 
married  sister's,  sir.  I  gave  her  a  motter  out  of  a 
cracker,  which  seemed  to  me  to  sum  up  what  I 
wanted  to  say  in  very  convenient  fashion,  sir. 
It  said:  — 

" '//  you  love  me  as  I  love  you, 
Then  let's  begin  to  bill  and  coo,* 

sir.   Very  'andy  and  compact,  I  thought  it." 
"And  what  did  you  say  to  that,  Mrs.  Grice?" 

asked  Philip. 

"I  told  him  to  give  over  being  a  silly  old  man, 


FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THEOPHILUS    383 

sir,"  replied  Mrs.  Grice,  with  extreme  gratifica- 
tion. 

"And  did  he?" 

"No,  sir,"  replied  the  simpering  Mrs.  Grice. 
"  'E  would  'ave  me!  He  got  his  way."  She  smiled 
roguishly  at  her  all-conquering  spouse,  who  gave 
her  a  look  of  stern  reproof.  "  Will  there  be  anything 
further,  sir?" 

"No  thank  you,"  said  Philip.    "Good-night!" 

His  aged  retainers  having  withdrawn,  Philip 
sat  on,  staring  into  the  fire. 

"We  all  have  our  own  ways  of  setting  about 
things,"  he  said  aloud.  Philip  had  a  bad  habit  of 
talking  to  himself,  especially  at  moments  of  mental 
concentration.  When  scolded  by  Peggy,  he  had 
pleaded  that  it  helped  him  to  think.  "Tim's  is  a 
personal  interview  in  the  conservatory.  Grice's  is 
a  motto  out  of  a  cracker.  Mrs.  Grice'i  is  a  big 
brother.  Mine — " 

He  rose,  and  crossed  the  room  to  a  locked  bureau. 
From  this  he  extracted  an  old  leather  writing-case, 
which  had  once  belonged  to  his  father.  This  he 
laid  open  upon  the  table,  beside  a  green-shaded 
reading-lamp.  After  that  he  turned  out  all  the 
other  lights  and  made  up  the  fire  to  a  cheerful 
blaze.  Finally,  from  the  pocket  of  the  writing-case 
he  extracted  a  fat  envelope.  It  was  addressed,  but 
not  fastened.  Philip  drew  up  his  chair  to  the  table 
and  pulled  out  the  contents.  These  comprised 
many  sheets,  the  last  of  which  was  not  finished. 

He  reaa  the  letter  right  through,  slowly  and 
seriously.  Occasionally  he  made  an  erasure  or  a 
correction,  but  not  often.  Then,  when  he  reached 


384  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

the  unfinished  page,  he  charged  his  pen,  squared 
his  elbows,  uttered  a  heavy  sigh,  and  addressed 
himself  to  the  labours  of  composition. 

More  than  once  he  tore  a  page  up  and  began 
again,  but  finally  all  was  finished. 

He  leaned  back  and  read  the  whole  epistle  right 
through  again.  Then  he  folded  its  many  sheets  in 
their  right  order  and  put  them  into  the  envelope. 

"I  think  the  occasion  calls  for  sealing-wax," 
he  said. 

He  found  an  old  stump  in  the  writing-case,  and 
sealed  up  the  envelope,  impressing  it  with  his 
father's  seal.  Presently  the  deed  was  done.  The 
Epistle  of  Theophilus  lay  on  the  table  before  its 
author,  signed,  sealed,  addressed,  and  stamped. 
Philip  looked  at  the  clock,  and  whistled.  It  was 
a  quarter  past  twelve. 

He  drew  aside  the  curtains  and  inspected  the 
night.  The  plate-glass  window  had  become  myster- 
iously opaque;  so  he  raised  the  sash — to  lower  it 
again  with  all  speed,  coughing.  A  thick  brown  fog, 
of  the  brand  affectionately  known  among  its 
habitual  inhalers  as  "London  particular,"  was 
lying  in  a  sulphurous  pall  over  the  choking  city. 

"All  the  same,  my  lad,"  decided  Philip,  "you 
had  better  trot  out  and  post  it.  It  will  be  delivered 
at  Tite  Street  to-morrow  morning,  and  perhaps 
some  Christian  person  there  will  forward  it.  Per- 
haps Jean  Leslie  will.  Wish  I  could  post  myself, 
too,"  he  added  wistfully.  "Hello,  what's  that?" 

From  the  little  lobby  outside  came  the  sharp 
rat-tat  of  a  knocker  —  low,  clear,  and  rhythmical. 
To  judge  by  the  sound,  the  outer  door  was  standing 


FIRST  EPISTLE  OF  THEOPHILUS    385 

open,  and  some  person  unknown  was  indulging  in  a 
playful  little  tattoo. 

"  Officers'  wives  get  pudding  and  pies, 
Soldiers'  wives  get  skitt-y  I " 

it  said. 

Philip's  heart  almost  broke  from  its  moorings. 
Hastily  he  picked  up  the  shaded  lamp  from  the 
table  and  turned  its  light  to  illuminate  the  door- 
way. 

Next  moment  there  came  a  quick  and  familiar 
step  outside.  The  door  of  the  room  opened  gently; 
and  there  appeared,  radiant  and  dazzling  against 
the  blackness  behind,  a  Vision. 

"Peggy!" 

"Yes  —  just  me!"  replied  the  Vision  demurely. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   SILENT   KNIGHT 

PEGGY  walked  to  the  fire  and  warmed  her  hands 
delicately.  She  was  wrapped  in  a  dark-blue  velvet 
opera-cloak  trimmed  with  fur.  One  corner  had 
fallen  back,  showing  the  pink  silk  lining.  Presently 
she  slipped  this  garment  off,  and  throwing  it  across 
a  chair  sat  down  upon  the  padded  top  of  the  fire- 
guard with  a  contented  sigh  and 'smiled  seraphic- 
ally  upon  her  host.  The  clock  struck  half-past 
twelve. 

"Peggy,"  enquired  the  respectable  Philip  se- 
verely, "what  on  earth  are  you  doing  here?" 

"  I  came  to  see  you,  Theophilus,"  replied  Peggy. 
"  Are  n't  you  glad  to  see  me?" 

"Such  conduct,"  observed  Philip  resolutely, 
"  is  most  reprehensible." 

"Yes,  isn't  it?  But  I  was  at  a  dance  close  by, 
and  I  thought  you  would  like  to  see  my  new  frock. 
Do  you  think  it  is  pretty?" 

Philip  merely  gaped.  He  was  all  at  sea.  Peggy 
regarded  him  covertly  for  a  moment,  and  spoke 
again. 

"When  a  lady,"  she  remarked  reproachfully, 
"takes  the  trouble  to  climb  up  four  flights  of 
stairs  to  show  a  gentleman  her  new  frock,  it  is 
usual  for  the  gentleman  to  say  something  appre- 
ciative." 


THE  SILENT  KNIGHT  387 

"  I  think  it  is  beautiful,"  said  Philip,  feasting  his 
eyes  upon  her. 

Peggy,  noticing  this,  decided  to  divert  his  at- 
tention from  the  wearer  to  the  garment. 

"And  yet,"  she  said,  "if  you  were  asked  to 
describe  it  to-morrow,  you  would  not  be  able  to 
remember  a  single  thing  about  it." 

"I  should  remember  every  detail,"  replied 
Philip,  "but  I  should  not  be  able  to  describe  it. 
There's  a  difference,  you  know." 

"  Try  —  now,"  suggested  Peggy. 

Philip  meekly  fell  in  with  her  mood.  He  knew 
enough  of  the  character  of  the  girl  before  him  to 
be  quite  certain  that  she  had  not  visited  his  flat 
at  midnight  in  order  to  show  him  her  new  frock. 
She  wanted  him  for  something :  perhaps  she  was  in 
trouble.  Well,  she  would  tell  him  in  due  course. 
For  the  moment,  extenuating  irrelevancies  were 
to  be  the  order  of  the  day. 

"Miss  Peggy  Falconer,"  he  began  conscien- 
tiously, "  looked  charming  in  a  white  silk  - 

"  Satin,"  corrected  the  charming  one. 

"  —  satin  creation,  which  was  partly  obscured 
from  view  by  a  sort  of  kilt  - 

"A  tunic." 

"  —  a  tunic,  of  pink  gauze." 

"  Of  rose-coloured  chiffon." 

"Thank  you.  Miss  Falconer  wore  the  neatest 
little  white  satin  shoes,  tied  up  with  ribbon,  and 
white  silk  - 

"They  are  not  usually  mentioned." 

"  Sorry !  Miss  Falconer  wore  long  white  gloves — 

"They  are  taken  for  granted." 


388  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Well,  anyhow,"  persisted  the  harassed  Philip, 
"round  her  hair  Miss  Falconer  wore  a  band  of 
some  stuff  or  other  — " 

"Of  tulle." 

"  —  of  tulle,  which  very  cleverly  matched  the 
colour  of  her  ki  —  tunic.  Over  her  shoulders  she 
wore  a  filmy  scarf,  of  the  same  stu  —  material. 
Her  waistband,  which  she  wore  rather  high  up, 
contained  a  small  bunch  of  carnations.  Finally  her 
appearance  caused  considerable  gratification  to  one 
of  her  oldest  friends,  who  did  not  know  that  she 
was  in  town." 

"I  only  got  back  this  afternoon,"  said  Peggy, 
who  by  this  time  had  risen  to  her  feet  and  was 
inspecting  Philip's  lares  et  penates.  "By  the  way, 
your  front  door  was  ajar,  Philip.  Your  last  visitor 
must  have  left  it  open.  Very  careless!  You  might 
have  been  robbed." 

**  I  expect  it  was  Friend  Grice." 

Peggy  babbled  on.  She  was  speaking  viva- 
ciously, and  rather  more  rapidly  than  was  her 
wont;  another  woman  would  have  said  that  she  was 
talking  to  exclude  other  topics. 

"It  is  more  than  a  year  since  I  was  in  these 
rooms,  Philip.  They  are  as  snug  as  ever,  but 
horribly  untidy.  Why  do  you  always  keep  books 
on  the  floor?  And  your  mantelpiece  —  tragic!" 
She  ran  her  finger  along  the  edge,  and  held  it  up 
reproachfully.  "Look!  Filthy!"  The  tip  of  her 
glove  was  black.  "I  shall  have  to  take  my  gloves 
off,  I  see,  to  keep  them  clean." 

"I  apologise.  "You  have  dropped  in  just  be- 
fore our  annual  dust-up.  Most  unfortunate!" 


THE  SILENT  KNIGHT  389 

"Are  these  your  household  gods?"  continued 
Peggy,  coming  to  a  halt  before  the  mantelpiece. 

"Yes." 

"Yours  or  Timothy's?" 

"  Mine.  Tim  keeps  his  in  the  other  room  across 
the  passage.  We  usually  feed  here  and  sit  there." 

Peggy  gave  a  little  cry. 

"  My  dear  Philip,  when  did  you  get  those  awful 
vases?" 

Philip  explained,  with  more  apologies. 

"And  what  is  that  queer  thing  there?" 

"That  is  a  model  of  the  Meldrum  Carburettor." 

Peggy  nodded  her  head. 

"I  remember,"  she  said.  "I  have  met  it  before. 
I  suppose  you  say  your  prayers  to  it.  What  is  in 
that  cracker  jar?" 

"Tobacco." 

"  I  thought  so.  As  for  these  old  pipes,  you  ought 
either  to  send  them  away  to  be  cleaned  and  revar- 
nished,  or  else  get  a  new  set  altogether.  No,  I  don't 
think  much  of  your  taste  in  mantelpiece  ornaments, 
Philip.  Now  if  /  were  an  eligible  young  bachelor, 
I  should  sweep  all  these  hideosities  away  and 
substitute  a  row  of  photographs  of  fair  ladies." 

"I  'm  afraid  I  have  n't  got  any,"  said  Philip. 

Peggy  regarded  him  coldly. 

"Indeed!"  she  observed.  "I  have  an  idea  that 
I  once  presented  you  with  my  portrait." 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Philip. 

He  pointed  to  the  open  bureau.  There  stood 
Peggy's  photograph,  in  a  large  round  silver  frame. 

"H'm!"  said  the  original,  with  her  head  on  one 
side.  "The  darkest  corner  of  an  old  bureau!  I 


390  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

thought  as  much.    I  suppose  this  empty  space  in 
the  middle  of  the  mantelpiece  is  reserved?  " 

"Reserved  —  what  for?"  enquired  the  mysti- 
fied Philip. 

Peggy  pointed  an  accusing  finger. 

"Whose  photograph,"  she  enquired,  "does  a 
man  eventually  plant  in  the  middle  of  his  mantel- 
piece? Has  n't  she  come  along  yet,  Theophilus? 
You  must  hustle,  you  know.  You  are  getting  on. 
You  must  not  be  left  on  the  shelf!  " 

She  put  her  head  upon  one  side  in  the  manner 
which  Philip  loved,  and  smiled  provocatively  up 
at  her  sere  and  yellow  devotee. 

Then,  without  a  moment's  warning,  her  mood 
changed. 

"Philip,  my  friend,"  she  said  caressingly,  "for- 
give me.  You  are  an  angel  of  patience.  I  did  not 
come  here  to-night  to  show  you  my  new  frock,  or 
torment  you." 

"I  had  gathered  that,"  replied  Philip  gravely. 
"Won't  you  sit  down?" 

He  drew  up  an  armchair  to  the  fire,  and  the  girl 
sank  into  it  luxuriously,  extending  her  flimsily 
shod  feet  to  the  blaze.  Philip  stood  with  an  elbow 
upon  the  mantelpiece,  looking  down  upon  his  love. 
All  his  life  he  never  forgot  the  picture  that  Peggy 
presented  at  that  moment  —  enthroned  in  his  old 
armchair  in  the  dimly  lit,  smoke-laden  room,  in  her 
shimmering  ball-dress,  the  firelight  tingeing  her 
bare  arms  and  shoulders,  and  her  brown  eyes  and 
honey-coloured  hair  glinting  in  its  rays. 

"Can  I  help  you  about  anything?"  he  asked 
bluntly. 


THE  SILENT  KNIGHT  391 

"  Yes,  Philip,  you  can.  I  want  to  tell  you  some- 
thing. I  —  I  have  just  had  a  proposal!" 

"Where?    When?"  asked  Philip  involuntarily. 

"At  the  Freeborns'  dance,  on  the  top  of  a  flight 
of  stairs,  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour  ago," 
replied  Peggy  with  great  precision. 

"Not  in  the  conservatory?" 

"Conservatory?  No.  Why?" 

"I  had  a  kind  of  notion,"  said  Philip  lamely, 
"  that  these  events  always  occurred  in  a  conserva- 
tory. You  know  —  Chinese  lanterns  —  distant 
music  —  exotic  atmosphere  —  and  so  on!  Was  it 
a  good  proposal?" 

"  Fair  to  middling,  so  far  as  my  experience  goes." 

" Did  he  —  carry  you  off  your  feet?" 

"No,"  said  the  girl  soberly,  "he  didn't.  I 
maintained  my  equilibrium :  it 's  a  way  I  have.  But 
you  must  n't  think  I  did  n't  enjoy  it.  It  was  most 
thrilling." 

"Quite  good,  in  fact,  for  a  first  attempt?" 

"First  attempt?"  Peggy's  eyebrows  went  up. 
"  How  do  you  know  it  was  a  first  attempt?  Have 
you  guessed  who  it  was?" 

Philip  nodded. 

"Perhaps  he  told  you?" 

"No.  I  have  only  just  guessed." 

"How  upsetting  of  you.  I  wanted  it  to  be  a 
surprise." 

"  It  is.  He  was  dining  here  to-night,  obviously  on 
the  war-path,  and  bound  for  the  Freeborns'  dance. 
But  I  never  guessed  you  were  the  objective:  I 
did  n't  know  you  were  in  town,  for  one  thing.  So 
you  came  here  to  tell  me  your  news?" 


392  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy.  "  Not  altogether,"  she  added 
slowly.  "I  —  I  want  to  consult  you,  Philip.  It's 
a  big  thing  for  a  girl  to  have  to  decide  on  a  plunge 
like  this  —  the  biggest  thing  she  ever  does.  It 
rather  —  rather  frightens  her  at  times.  If  she  has 
no  mother,  and  no  brothers  or  sisters,  and  —  and 
a  dad  like  my  dad,  it  becomes  a  bigger  thing  than 
ever.  Her  best  course,  then,  is  to  pick  out  the 
whitest  man  she  knows,  and  ask  him  to  advise  her. 
That  is  why  I  am  here." 

There  was  a  long  silence.   Then  Philip  said:  — 
"I  am  very  proud  that  you  should  have  come  to 
me.   But  —  but  I  doubt  if  I  am  the  right  person. 
Why  not  ask  a  woman  to  advise  you?" 

"Because,"  replied  Peggy  with  great  vigour, 
"  women  are  such  born  matchmakers.  If  you  go  to 
a  woman  and  confide  to  her  that  you  are  wobbling 
on  the  brink  of  matrimony,  she  won't  advise  you : 
she  will  simply  step  behind  you  and  push  you  in! 
That  is  why  I  can't  consult  Jean  Leslie,  —  Jean 
Falconer,  I  mean,  — •  although  she  is  my  best  friend. 
She  is  far  too  romantic  to  say  or  do  anything 
practical.  No,  I  must  have  a  man,  Philip;  and  I 
have  picked  you.  You  are  the  best  sort  I  know; 
you  have  seen  a  good  deal  of  life;  and  you  are 
absolutely  unbiassed.  You  know  me,  and  you  know 
Tim.  Now,  shall  I  marry  him?" 

Philip  sat  down  rather  heavily  upon  the  fire- 
guard, and  pondered. 

"May  I  ask  you  two  or  three  obvious  and  old- 
fashioned  questions?"  he  said  presently. 
Peggy  nodded. 
"Do  you  —  care  for  him?" 


THE  SILENT  KNIGHT  393 

Peggy  wrinkled  her  brow. 

"He  's  rather  a  lamb,  you  know,"  she  said, 
"  and  I  am  fond  of  him.  But  I  don't  quite  know 
how  much  of  it  is  the  real  thing  and  how  much  is 
gratitude.  I  think  you  know"  -she  hesitated 

"that  things  have  not  always  been  too  easy  at 
home— 

"Yes,  I  do  know!"  said  Philip  with  sudden 
passion.  "Sorry!  Go  on!" 

—  And  Tim  could  take  me  away  from  that. 
He  has  been  very  good  to  me,  always,  and  I 
have  not  too  many  friends.  I  find  friends  rather 
difficult  to  keep.  I  fancy  Dad  may  be  the  reason. 
You,  for  instance,  have  given  us  up  — 

Philip  made  a  sudden  movement,  but  did  not 
speak. 

"In  fact,  you  have  hardly  been  inside  our 
house  since  you  left  it  after  your  illness." 

This  time  Philip  could  answer. 

"I  felt  rude  and  churlish,"  he  said  earnestly, 
"but  it  seemed  the  best  thing  to  do.  You  see, 
one  of  the  last  observations  which  your  esteemed 
parent  made  to  me  was  to  the  effect  that  he  wished 
to  congratulate  me  upon  having  got  through  my 
illness  so  inexpensively!  After  that  — 

"I  know,"  said  Peggy,  smiling,  "but  I  need 
not  apologise.  You  know  what  Dad  is. " 

"He  furthermore  added  -  "  said  Philip,  flush- 
ing. 

"Yes,  I  know  what  he  added,"  interposed 
Peggy  quickly.  "He  shouts,  rather,  when  he  is 
making  a  point.  And  you,  poor  thing,  being  his 
honoured  guest,  could  not  answer  back!  The  fact 


394  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

is,  the  old  gentleman  contracted  the  gravest  sus- 
picions of  you  the  first  time  he  found  me  wash- 
ing your  face!  (After  all,  some  one  had  to  do  it.) 
He  was  always  inclined,  too,  to  regard  you  as  a 
malingerer,  though  I  kept  explaining  to  him  that 
a  compound  fracture  of  the  tibia  could  not  be 
simulated.  Still,  the  long  and  short  of  it  all  is, 
Philip,  that  you  don't  come  about  the  house  any 
more.  Tim  does,  though;  apparently  Dad  regards 
him  as  harmless.  Tim  has  been  very  very  good 
to  me,  and  as  I  say,  I  am  grateful. " 

"And  you  are  thinking  of  marrying  him?" 

"Frankly,  I  am  thinking  of  it." 

"But  you  have  not  said  Yes?  " 

"No.    Next  question,  please?" 

"You  are  sure  that  Tim  cares  for  you?" 

"Well,"  said  Peggy  cheerfully,  "to  judge  by 
the  way  he  went  on  upon  the  top  step,  I  should 
call  him  a  pretty  severe  case." 

"But  does  he  love  you?"  persisted  Philip  dog- 
gedly. "A  woman  is  always  supposed  to  know 
that." 

"Yes,  Philip,"  assented  Peggy  quietly;  "she 
usually  knows." 

"Where  is  Tim  all  this  time,  by  the  way?" 

"I  left  him  at  the  ball.  He  was  particularly 
anxious  to  have  a  farewell  waltz  with  a  certain 
girl.  You  see,  he  is  by  way  of  burning  his  boats 
to-night." 

"Who  is  the  lady?" 

"Her  name  is  Babs  Duncombe.  He  told  me 
all  about  her.  She  is  one  of  the  only  other  girls 
he  ever  loved.  I  gather  that  she  is  about  the  pick 


THE  SILENT  KNIGHT  395 

of  the  *also  rans.',  I  told  him  he  could  have  half 
an  hour  to  close  his  account  with  her,  and  then 
he  could  come  along  here  and  call  for  me.  There's 
one  o'clock  striking.  Now,  Philip,  what  shall  I 
say?" 

Peggy's  eyes  met  Philip's,  and  they  were  full 
of  appeal.  But  Philip  asked  one  more  question. 
He  thought  it  permissible,  under  the  circumstances. 

"I  just  want  to  ask  this,"  he  said.  "Are  you  - 
sure  there  is  no  one  else?" 

Peggy  shook  her  head. 

"There  can  be  no  one  else,"  she  said  deliber- 
ately. "Tun  —  and  you  —  are  the  only  men  I 
have  ever  known  really  well.  There  can't  be  any 
other." 

She  rose  to  her  feet  and  stood  before  Philip  - 
slim,  fragrant,  and  wistful  —  and  laid  her  hands 
on  his  broad  shoulders.   The  hands  were  tremb- 
ling. 

"Advise  me,  friend,"  she  said.  "I  will  go  by 
what  you  say.  Be  a  big  brother  for  a  minute. 
Tell  me  what  to  do.  Shall  I  marry  him?  I  —  I'm 
rather  lonely,  sometimes." 

Philip  looked  up  into  her  face  and  all  hesita- 
tion left  him.  The  fight  within  him  ceased.  In 
its  place  had  come  the  rarest  and  most  wonderful 
thing  in  human  nature  —  Love  that  takes  no 
account  of  Self.  For  the  moment  Philip  Meldrum 
had  ceased  to  be.  All  he  saw  was  Peggy  —  Peggy 
happily  married  and  properly  cared  for. 

Very  gently  he  drew  the  girl's  hands  from  his 
shoulders  and  held  them  in  his  own.  Then  he 
said :  — 


396  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"  Yes  —  marry  him.  And  I  hope  you  will  be 
very  happy,  Peggy  dear." 

"Thank  you,  Philip,"  said  Peggy  quietly:  one 
had  almost  said  listlessly.  She  was  very  white. 
She  sank  down  into  the  chair  again,  and  Philip 
released  her  hands. 

"And  now,"  he  said  with  great  energy,  "I'll 
go  out  and  look  for  a  cab  for  you.  There's  a  fear- 
ful fog  outside,  and  there  is  no  saying  when  Tim 
will  turn  up.  In  any  case  you  can't  stay  here  till 
the  milkman  calls.  I  will  see  if  I  can  find  some 
kind  of  fiery  chariot  for  you.  I  suppose  I  can't 
offer  you  a  whiskey-and-soda?" —  pointing  to 
the  tray  on  the  table. 

"I'll  take  a  little  soda-water,  please,"  replied 
Peggy  faintly. 

She  lay  back  gazing  silently  into  the  fire  until 
her  host  supplied  her  needs.  Then  she  spoke 
again,  in  her  old  steady,  clear  tones :  — 

"You  are  a  good  sort,  Philip.  You  ought  to 
marry  some  day:  you  are  wasted  at  present. 
And  when  you  pick  a  wife,  show  her  to  me  first, 
and  I  will  see  you're  not  imposed  on." 

"Taxi?"  interposed  Philip,  almost  roughly. 

"Pm  not  particular,"  said  Peggy.  "You  had 
better  be  quick,  though,  because  I  am  going  to 
explore  this  room  and  meddle  with  all  your  — ! 

But  Philip  had  gone. 

Presently  Peggy  rose  to  her  feet  and  began  to 
wander  round  the  room.  She  arrived  at  the  book- 
case. 

"Engineering  —  seven  bound  volumes.    That's 


THE  SILENT  KNIGHT  397 

not  very  exciting.  Rudyard  Kipling"  -survey- 
ing a  long  row:  "that's  better.  He  loves  him,  I 
know.  Stevenson,  Jacobs,  Wells."  She  took  down 
a  green  volume.  "'The  Country  of  the  Blind.'  So 
that 's  where  you  were  brought  up,  mon  ami!" 

Peggy  restored  the  book  to  its  place  with  a 
quavering  little  laugh,  and  turned  to  the  table. 
Then  she  stopped  dead. 

Before  her,  in  the  circle  of  light  formed  by  the 
rays  of  the  lamp,  lay  a  letter  —  a  bulky  letter, 
ready  for  post.  It  was  addressed  to  herself. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   ELEVENTH   HOUR 

"'This  Week's  Society  Problem,"  mused  Peggy.  "A, 
an  unsophisticated  young  spinster,  finding  herself  alone  in 
the  residence  of  B,  an  eligible  bachelor  acquaintance, 
notices  upon  B's  dining-room  table  a  letter  in  B's  Jiand- 
writing,  addressed  to  herself  and  stamped  for  post.  Prob- 
lem: What  should  A  do?  Answer  adjudged  correct: 
Leave  the  letter  where  it  is  and  wait  until  the  postman  de- 
livers it.  Answer  adjudged  incorrect:  Open  the  letter  and 
read  it." 

A  minute  later  the  seal  was  broken  and  Peggy 
was  composedly  extracting  the  folded  sheets. 

"  I  'm  afraid  I  never  did  have  the  instincts  of 
a  real  lady,"  she  said.  "But  perhaps  the  postman 
would  never  have  delivered  this  letter.  I  will 
salve  my  conscience  by  picking  off  the  stamp  and 
saving  him  a  penny." 

She  did  so.  Then,  sitting  down  to  the  table 
and  drawing  the  lamp  a  little  nearer,  she  smoothed 
out  the  crackling  pages  and  began  to  read. 

This  is  the  letter  of  a  man  who  suffers  from  an  impedi- 
ment in  his  speech.  I  have  been  able  to  talk  to  you  on  many 
subjects,  but  never  on  this  —  the  thing  that  matters  most  in 
all  the  world. 

Peggy  drew  her  chair  a  little  closer. 

I  might  have  told  you  all  about  it  long  ago,  the  letter  con- 
tinued, for  I  have  been  ready  to  do  soever  since  you  gathered 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  399 

me  up  from  under  the  car  at  the  foot  of  Wickmore  Hill.  But 
1  never  did.  Twice  I  have  nearly  done  it,  and  twice  I  have 
drawn  back  —  the  first  time  because  it  seemed  too  soon,  the 
second  because  it  seemed  no  use.  If  details  would  interest 
you,  the  first  time  was  in  the  early  days  of  my  convalescence 
at  Tite  Street.  I  came  hobbling  into  your  drawing-room  one 
afternoon  —  and  you  had  been  crying.  I  suppose  your 
father  had  been  inconsiderate  again.  Not  that  you  showed  it, 
but  I  happened  to  sit  down  in  the  same  chair  as  your  hand- 
kerchief, which  was  soaking.  If  necessary,  I  can  produce 
the  handkerchief  as  evidence. 

Peggy  gave  a  half-hysterical  little  sob. 

The  second  time  was  on  Chelsea  Embankment.  I  don't 
suppose  you  remember. 

Then  followed  Philip's  version  of  what  took 
place  on  Chelsea  Embankment.  Peggy  smiled 
indulgently.  She  could  afford  to  smile  now. 

But  now  that  the  reason  which  kept  you  from  marrying 
any  one  —  and  I  think  it  was  fine  of  you  — has  been  re- 
moved, I  want  to  reopen  the  subject  in  earnest.  First  of  all, 
let  me  talk  about  the  beginning  of  things.  .  .  . 

Peggy  looked  up. 

"I  wonder  why  men  always  want  to  go  back 
to  the  Year  One  when  they  make  love,"  she  mused. 
"Tim  did  it,  too.  I  suppose  it  is  a  man's  idea  of 
showing  how  firmly  founded  his  affection  is. 
*  Established  eighteen-seventy-six '  -  -  that  sort  of 
thing!" 

Then  she  returned  to  her  letter. 

It  was  a  lengthy  epistle,  this  Epistle  of  The- 
ophilus.  Primarily  it  was  a  love-letter;  but  when 
you  have  never  written  a  love-letter  before  and 


400          A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

never  intend  to  write  another,  a  good  deal  of 
secondary  matter  is  apt  to  creep  in.  This  letter 
contained  the  whole  of  Philip's  simple  philosophy 
of  life;  his  confession  of  faith;  the  thoughts  that 
a  deeply  reserved  and  extremely  sensitive  man  sets 
down  just  once,  and  for  one  eye  only.  He  felt 
that  Peggy  was  entitled  to  a  full  and  complete 
inventory  of  his  thoughts  about  her;  so  he  set 
them  all  down,  page  by  page,  line  by  line;  not 
knowing  that  a  woman  as  often  as  not  chooses 
a  man  as  she  chooses  a  house,  not  because  of  the 
stability  of  the  foundations  or  the  purity  of  the 
water-supply,  but  because  a  quaint,  old-fashioned 
sundial  in  the  garden  has  caught  her  fancy,  or 
some  oddly  shaped  room  hi  an  out-of-the-way 
turret  strikes  her  as  the  one  and  only  site  for  a 
little  private  and  particular  retreat  of  her  own. 
But  Peggy  read  on. 

The  letter  covered  wide  ground.  It  went  back 
to  their  first  wonderful  meeting,  and  recalled 
childish  conversations  which  Peggy  thought  she 
had  forgotten.  It  told  of  knightly  dreams,  and 
of  the  Lady  whom  the  Knight  was  one  day  to 
meet  and  marry  —  not  realising  that  he  had  met 
her  already.  After  that  came  more  recent  history 
—  the  second  meeting,  and  the  rapturous  con- 
valescence at  Tite  Street.  The  black  months  that 
followed  the  tragedy  on  Chelsea  Embankment 
were  sketched  very  lightly.  Finally  came  the 
story  of  the  momentous  voyage  upon  the  Bos- 
phorus,  and  the  race  home. 

The  letter  closed  with  a  passage  which  need 
not  be  set  down  here.  This  is  in  the  main  a  frivo- 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  401 

lous  narrative;  and  there  are  certain  inner  rooms 
in  the  human  heart,  from  the  threshold  of  which 
self-respecting  frivolity  draws  back  with  decent 
reverence. 

The  clock  struck  two.  Simultaneously  the 
outer  door  of  the  flat  opened  with  the  rattle  of  a 
latchkey;  and  next  moment  Timothy  burst  hi  to 
the  room.  Peggy  was  curled  up  in  the  big  arm- 
chair before  the  fire,  apparently  hah*  asleep. 

"That  you,  Timmy?"  she  enquired. 

"Yes  —  dearest!"  replied  Timothy. 

Inflated  with  the  enormous  pride  of  possession, 
he  leaned  over  the  back  of  the  chair  and  gazed 
fondly  down  upon  his  prospective  bride. 

"Don't  bother  me  just  now,"  said  Peggy. 
"  I  'm  rather  sleepy." 

"Darling!"  responded  the  infatuated  Timothy. 

"  Stop  blowing  on  the  top  of  my  hand,  and  help 
yourself  to  a  cigarette,  there 's  a  good  child,"  sug- 
gested the  darling  soothingly. 

Timothy  obeyed,  a  trifle  dashed. 

"I  don't  think,  little  girl,"  he  remarked,  light- 
ing the  cigarette,  "that  that  is  quite  the  way 
in  which  a  man  expects  to  be  greeted  by  his 
fiancee." 

"His  what?"  asked  Peggy. 

"His  — well,  dash  it  all,  Peggy,"  exclaimed 
Timothy  impatiently, —  he  was  naturally  some- 
what tightly  strung  up  to-night,—  "don't  be  a 
little  pig.  Here  I  come  hareing  along  from  the 
dance  in  search  of  you,  as  full  of  beans  as  —  as  — 
as  a  —  " 


402  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"Beanpod?"  suggested  Peggy  helpfully. 

"No!  Yes!  All  right!  Beanpod,  if  you  like!" 
cried  the  sorely  tried  youth.  "But  give  a  fellow 
a  chance.  As  I  say,  here  I  come,  red-hot  on  your 
track,  just  overflowing  with  —  well,  I  can't  de- 
scribe it  —  and  you  greet  me  as  if  I  were  a  Rural 
Dean." 

"I  should  never  dream  of  addressing  a  Rural 
Dean  as  'Timmy,'  Timmy,"  Peggy  replied. 

"Well,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  insisted  Tim- 
othy, not  in  the  least  appeased  by  this  soft  answer. 
"Just  think.  We  have  both  been  passing  through 
the  greatest  crisis  of  our  lives  —  the  most  thrilling 
moment  of  our  joint  existence  —  " 

"Have  we?"  asked  Peggy  in  simple  wonder. 
"I  didn't  know." 

Her  incensed  swain,  grappling  heroically  with 
his  feelings,  began  to  stride  about  the  room. 

"Peggy,"  he  said  in  a  stern  voice,  "let  us  under- 
stand one  another  clearly." 

For  reply,  the  unfeeling  Miss  Falconer  rose  to 
her  feet  and  struck  an  attitude. 

"  'Tush!'  cried  the  Marquis,  pacing  the  floor  of 
the  bijou  boudoir  liked  a  caged  lion,"  she  recited. 

Timothy  uttered  an  impatient  ejaculation,  and 
dropped  upon  the  sofa. 

"  Then,  with  a  superb  gesture  of  contempt,  he 
turned  upon  his  heel  and  flung  himself  into  the 
depths  of  an  abysmal  divan,"  continued  Peggy. 
"Careful,  Timmy!  I  heard  the  sofa  crack." 

"I  suppose  you  know,  Peggy,"  announced 
Timothy  in  a  very  ill-used  voice,  "that  you  are 
breaking  my  heart?  Also  destroying  my  faith  in 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  403 

women?  Mere  details,  of  course,"  he  added,  in 
what  was  meant  to  be  a  tone  of  world-weary 
cynicism;  "but  they  may  interest  you!" 

He  rose,  and  leaning  gloomily  against  the  man- 
telpiece, glowered  his  disapprobation  of  his 
beloved's  ill-timed  levity. 

Once  more,  just  as  in  her  conversation  with 
Philip,  Peggy  flashed  into  another  mood.  She  put 
out  an  appealing  hand,  and  touched  Tim  caress- 
ingly. 

"Timmy,  dear,"  she  said,  "I'm  sorry  —  there! 
Will  you  forgive  me,  please?" 

"  Yes,  I  forgive  you,"  replied  Timothy,  reassum- 
ing  his  air  of  possession  at  once.  "But  it  must 
not  occur  again." 

"All  right,"  agreed  Peggy  meekly. 

Then  she  looked  at  Timothy  with  a  troubled 
expression. 

"Tim,"  she  said,  "I  want  to  talk  to  you  like 
a  mother.  I  have  been  thinking." 

"And  have  you  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
you  don't  love  me!"  exclaimed  Timothy  in  a 
tragic  voice.  "I  know:  don't  explain!  That  is 
a  woman  all  over.  A  couple  of  hours  - 

"  I  was  n't  going  to  say  anything  of  the  kind, 
Tim,"  interposed  Peggy  quietly;  "but  I  have  been 
thinking."  She  fingered  the  buttons  of  Timothy ]s 
immaculate  waistcoat.  "  I  have  been  wondering  if 
a  man  like  you  ought  to  marry  at  present.  What 
lovely  buttons!  "  She  played  a  little  tune  on  them 
to  show  her  appreciation. 

"Don't  treat  me  like  a  child,  please,"  said 
Timothy  stiffly. 


404  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"At  this  moment,"  replied  Peggy,  "that  is  just 
the  way  I  am  not  treating  you." 

"You  think  me  too  young,  I  know,"  insisted 
Tim. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  you  at  all,"  said  Peggy 
calmly. 

"  I  see,"  said  Timothy  hi  a  hollow  voice.  "  Your- 
self? Quite  so!"  He  laughed  sardonically. 

"No,"  replied  Peggy  patiently;  "of  something 
bigger.  Something  bigger  than  either  of  us.  I 
was  thinking  —  well,  of  the  nation  at  large." 

"Peggy,"  enquired  Timothy,  entirely  befogged 
but  considerably  intrigued,  "what  are  you  talk- 
ing about?" 

"Sit  down,  and  listen,"  replied  Peggy. 

Timothy  obeyed,  and  the  girl  continued :  — 

"It's  this  way,  Tim.  Many  a  man  of  promise 
has  ruined  his  prospects  by  an  early  marriage. 
You  are  a  man  of  promise,  Tim." 

"Oh,  rot!"  protested  Timothy,  kindling  none 
the  less. 

"If  you  were  to  marry  now,"  continued  Peggy, 
in  the  same  thoughtful  voice,  "you  would  settle 
down  into  a  contented,  domesticated  husband." 

Tim  nodded. 

"It's  about  time  I  did,"  he  said  darkly. 

"No,"  countered  Peggy;  "not  yet.  You  are  a 
man  of  action,  Tim.  You  ought  to  be  free,  at  pres- 
ent —  free  to  fight,  and  climb  high,  and  become 
famous  — 

"By  Jove!"  exclaimed  Timothy,  despite  him- 
self. ' 

" — and  to  reach  the  great  place  you  are  en- 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  405 

titled  to.  If  I  were  a  man,  I  would  let  nothing 
come  between  me  and  my  career.  A  career! 
Would  you  sacrifice  all  that,  Tim,  just  to  get 
married?" 

"But,  Peggy,"  exclaimed  Timothy,  "you  would 
help  me.  At  least,  you  would  n  't  be  a  bit  in  the 
way." 

"You  do  say  kind  things  to  me,  Tim,"  replied 
Peggy  gratefully.  "But  it  would  never  do.  Even 
a  man  of  your  personality  would  find  it  hard  to 
get  on  without  friends  and  without  influence; 
and  very  young  married  men  have  few  friends 
and  less  influence.  They  are  back  numbers:  no- 
body wants  them.  It 's  the  rising  young  bachelors 
who  go  everywhere,  and  can  command  interest 
and  popularity  and  fame.  A  wife  would  be  a  dread- 
ful drag.  She  might  make  shipwreck  of  your  life." 

Tim  drew  in  his  breath,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
making  a  gallant  interjection  of  protest;  but 
Peggy  concluded  swiftly :  - 

"So  you  must  establish  yourself  in  the  public 
eye  before  you  settle  down.  Don't  you  agree 
with  me?" 

She  lay  back  in  her  chair  again,  looking  inter- 
rogatively up  into  Timothy's  perplexed  counte- 
nance. 

"There's  a  good  deal  in  what  you  say,  Peggy," 
he  admitted.  "  But  I  simply  could  not  leave  you 
in  the  cart,  after  — 

A  sudden  inspiration  seized  him. 

"Look  here  —  I  have  it!"  he  cried.   "Suppos- 
ing we  get  married  in  five  years  from  now  - 
what?" 


406  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Peggy  was  silent,  and  Tim  waited  impatiently 
for  her  to  make  up  her  mind.  At  last  she 
spoke. 

"It  would  be  a  very  difficult  five  years  for  you, 
Tim.  Imagine  yourself  going  about  this  big  world, 
meeting  all  sorts  of  famous  and  influential  people, 
and  growing  more  and  more  famous  and  influential 
yourself.  Girls  would  be  falling  in  love  with 

you-" 

"Oh,  I  say!"  exclaimed  Timothy,  much  con- 
fused. 

"  Yet  all  the  time,"  continued  Peggy  in  a  tragic 
voice,  "you  would  be  able  to  give  them  no  en- 
couragement, because  you  felt  bound  to  come  at 
the  end  of  five  years  and  marry  me  —  getting  on 
for  thirty!  It  wouldn't  be  a  very  comfortable 
five  years  for  either  of  us,  would  it?" 

By  this  time  Timothy  was  once  more  striding 
about  the  room.  But  he  was  not  posing  now: 
he  was  thinking  hard.  Peggy  sat  motionless. 
Her  face  was  serene,  but  her  hands  gripped  the 
arms  of  the  chair  until  her  pink  finger-nails  grew 
white.  Once  she  wondered  where  Philip  was. 
She  did  not  know  that  he  was  walking  up  and 
down  Sloane  Street  in  the  fog,  fighting  with  all  the 
devils  in  Hell. 

At  last  Timothy  appeared  to  arrive  at  some  de- 
cision. He  came  and  sat  down  upon  the  edge  of 
Peggy's  chair. 

"Peggy,"  he  announced,  "you  have  a  sense  of 
proportion  quite  unusual  in  your  sex.  You  are 
the  most  farsighted  woman  I  have  ever  known." 

"I  believe  I  am,"  said  Peggy. 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  407 

"  And  the  most  unselfish,"  added  the  youthful 
Grand  Turk  on  the  arm  of  her  chair. 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,"  said  Peggy. 

"What  you  say  about  my  making  a  career,  and 
all  that,"  continued  the  newly  awakened  Timothy 
—  "well,  there  is  something  in  it,  you  know! 
By  Gad,  there's  something  in  it!  I  rather  see 
myself  in  Parliament,  letting  some  of  those  chaps 
have  it  in  the  neck!  Wow- wow!"  He  bubbled 
enthusiastically:  already,  with  the  simple  fervour 
of  the  hereditary  ruling  class,  he  felt  himself  at 
grips  with  the  enemies  of  the  State.  "And  I  am 
sure  you  are  right,  too,  about  my  not  tying  my- 
self down  to  an  early  marriage.  I  consider  it  a 
jolly  sporting  and  unselfish  view  for  you  to  take. 
Still,  I  must  not  allow  you  to  suffer."  He  laid 
his  hand  upon  Peggy's  arm.  "  Look  here,  Peggy,  if 
I  come  to  you  in  five  years  from  now  and  ask 
you  to  marry  me  —  will  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  Peggy. 

"Cheers!" 

"On  one  condition.'* 

"  And  that  is - 

"That  neither  of  us  has  married  any  one 
else  in  the  meanwhile,"  concluded  Peggy  se- 
dately. 

Timothy  laughed  loudly  at  this  flight  of  fancy. 

"You  can  set  your  mind  at  rest  on  that  point, 
Peggy,"  he  said.  "I  will  stick  to  you."  He  was 
a  single-minded  egoist,  was  young  Timothy. 
"Then  it's  a  deal?" 

Peggy,  knowing  well  what  was  coming,  nodded. 
Timothy  bent  over  her. 


408  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

"I  think  we  might  signify  our  assent  in  the 
usual  manner  —  eh?"  he  suggested. 

"  We  agreed  upon  five  years  —  not  five  sec- 
onds"! said  Peggy,  laughingly  releasing  her  hand. 
She  stepped  out  of  the  chair  and  stood  up.  "  Now, 
Tim,  you  trot  off  to  the  ball  again;  it's  not  much 
after  three.  Philip  will  take  me  home:  he  is  out 
getting  a  cab  now.  You  go  and  perform  a  similar 
service  for  Babs  Duncombe." 

"Oh,  I  say,  come!"  observed  Timothy  scorn- 
fully. "Babs  Duncombe!" 

"Why  not?  She  is  a  very  nice,  pretty  girl,  and 
her  father  is  a  very  influential  man.  Remember, 
Tim,  you  have  got  to  spend  the  next  five  years 
getting  to  know  influential  people.  Begin  on  Babs. 
If  you  hurry  up,  you  may  be  able  to  catch  her 
for  an  extra  or  two." 

Already  the  pliable  Timothy  was  putting  on 
his  coat. 

"You  are  right,  Peggy,"  he  said.  "You  are 
always  right.  I  believe  you  know  what  is  best 
for  me  better  than  I  do  myself." 

Peggy,  surveying  him  indulgently,  mentally 
allotted  to  him  a  maximum  of  six  further  months 
in  the  single  state. 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  she  said.  "Good- 
night, Tim!" 

"Good-night,  Peggy.  You  are  quite  sure  about 
—  well,  perhaps  you  're  right.  Hallo,  Theophilus, 
old  son!  Got  back?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Philip,  putting  down  his  hat.  "  It 's 
lucky  I  caught  you.  I  can't  find  a  cab  high  or 
low.  You  had  better  take  Peggy  home  in  yours." 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  409 

"Tim  is  going  back  to  the  ball,  Philip,"  inter- 
posed Peggy.  "He  has  one  or  two  duty  dances 
to  work  off.  I  will  share  his  cab  as  far  as  the  Free- 
boms'  and  take  it  on  home.  I  shall  be  quite  safe." 

"Well,  hurry  up,  Peggy,"  said  Timothy,  now 
ready  for  the  road.  "  I  should  look  a  bit  of  a  mug 
if  I  got  there  and  found  the  place  shut  —  what, 
what?  Good-night,  Philip,  my  lad.  Don't  sit 
up  for  me.  Half  a  minute,  Peggy!  I  think  I  had 
better  have  a  fresh  pair  of  gloves." 

He  dashed  out,  across  the  hall,  and  disappeared 
into  his  own  room,  where  he  could  be  heard  open- 
ing drawers  and  banging  cupboard  doors. 

Philip  picked  up  Peggy's  velvet  cloak  and 
wrapped  it  round  her. 

"Shall  I  come,  too?"  he  asked,  "and  act  as  sub- 
sequent escort;  or  should  I  find  myself  a  member 
of  the  ancient  French  family  of  De  Trop?" 

Peggy  picked  up  her  gloves,  fan,  and  handker- 
chief from  the  table,  and  said :  - 

"You  would  never  be  de  trop  at  any  time, 
Philip.  But  I  am  not  going  to  drag  you  to  Chel- 
sea to-night.  Look  —  the  fog  is  lifting!" 

She  drew  back  the  curtain  of  the  window. 
Twinkling  lights  were  discernible  in  the  street 
below. 

They  shook  hands. 

"Have  you  given  him  his  answer?'*  Philip 
blurted  out.  He  could  not  help  it. 

"Yes." 

"Can  I  — guess  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  You  might.  It 's  an  even  chance, 
isn't  it?" 


410  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

Timothy  appeared  at  the  door. 

"Peggy,  I  am  waiting,"  he  mentioned  coldly; 
and  disappeared. 

"Coming,  Tim,"  replied  Peggy.  "Good-night, 
Philip!" 

"Tim  seems  to  have  rather  taken  command 
of  things,"  said  Philip,  as  he  escorted  Peggy  to 
the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"He  is  in  a  hurry,  poor  dear, —  that's  all.  He 
hasn't  completed  his  evening's  programme  yet. 
But  I  must  fly." 

She  turned  to  go;  then  paused. 

"  It 's  as  well  you  came  in  when  you  did,  Philip," 
she  said.  "Two  minutes  later  and  you  would 
have  found  me  gone." 

"I  am  glad  I  got  back  in  time,"  replied  Philip 
gravely. 

Suddenly  the  girl  looked  up  squarely  into  his 
face. 

"Do  you  know,  mon  ami,"  she  said,  with  a 
whimsical  smile,  "you  have  a  habit  of  running 
things  rather  fine." 

"Have  I?"  replied  Philip  dully. 

"You  have.  Talk  about  the  eleventh  hour! 
In- 

"Pegg — ee!"  The  voice  of  the  fermenting 
Timothy  came  booming  up  the  staircase.  Peggy 
did  not  hurry. 

"Good-night  —  Phil!"  she  said  softly. 

"Good-night  —  Pegs!"  replied  Philip.  He 
touched  her  hand  awkwardly.  They  had  not  ad- 
dressed one  another  thus  since  childhood. 

He  watched  her  out  of  sight  down  the  winding 


THE  ELEVENTH  HOUR  411 

stair,  and  then  turned  heavily  away.  As  he 
paused  to  close  the  outer  door  of  the  flat  his  ear 
caught  the  sound  of  light  feet.  He  looked  out. 

Peggy  was  standing  at  the  top  of  the  staircase. 

"Phil,"  she  said,  rather  breathlessly,  "don't 
forget  to  post  your  letter!" 

Then  she  fled. 

One  second  later  Philip  was  standing  by  the 
lamplit  table.  His  letter  was  gone,  and  another  had 
taken  its  place.  It  was  addressed  to  "Most  Ex- 
cellent Theophilus." 

He  took  it  up,  dizzily,  and  turned  it  over.  On 
the  back  was  written:  - 

/  have  saved  you  a  stamp  by  reading  your  letter  before 
you  posted  it. 

P.S.   You  un.ll  find  the  stamp  on  the  inkstand. 

Finally  he  opened  the  letter.  His  own  had  oc- 
cupied many  pages;  this,  the  answer,  consisted 
of  three  words. 

Philip  read  them  through.  Then,  rocking  on 
his  feet,  he  read  them  again,  and  again.  Finally 
he  raised  his  head  and  gazed  dumbly  about  him. 
His  eyes  fell  upon  a  twinkling  circular  object 
lying  upon  the  table  close  beside  the  place  where 
he  had  found  the  letter. 

With  a  swelling  heart  he  snatched  it  up,  and 
strode  to  the  hearthrug. 

There,  with  one  devastating  sweep  of  his  arm, 
he  rendered  the  mantelpiece  a  solitude.    Every- 
thing   went    with    one    glorious    crash  —  pipes, 
tobacco-jar,   cigarettes,     Bulgarian   Atrocities  - 
all.   Last,  but  not  least,  with  a  heavy  thud,  went 


412  A  KNIGHT  ON  WHEELS 

the  Meldrum  Carburettor.    The  day  of   Things 
was  over. 

Then,  very  reverently,  in  the  very  centre  of  the 
desert  that  he  had  created  for  her,  he  planted  a 
portrait  —  the  portrait  of  a  Lady,  in  a  large, 
round,  shining,  silver  frame. 


THE   END 


CAMBRIDGE  .  MASSACHUSETTS 
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THE  WOMEN  WE  MARRY 

By  ARTHUR  STANWOOD  PIER 


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